Time Heals All Wounds
by Twilight L Xari
Summary: [Sequel to By the Grace of Angels] After the attack on Xavier's School for Gifted Youngsters, the survivors are left to piece their shattered lives back together and cope with what they lost. [This story will not be continued.]
1. Aftermath

Disclaimer: I don't own the X-Men. Nor do I own Basil Martin.

A/N: Here it is! The prologue of the not-so-long-awaited sequel to _By the Grace of Angels_. Some prior reading is required, because if you haven't read the first one, you will be lost and confused. This'll probably be all I put up for a while, so if I don't update for a week or two, don't lose faith. I'm just writing out as much as I can without pressure until NaNoWriMo. So have fun! And does this mean that some people will retract their death threats? I'd sleep easier...

**Prologue – Aftermath**

It was the morning after the memorial service. Despite Storm's protection of the garden, a cold wind was blowing through the hedges, and there was frost on the flowers. In the predawn silence, Basil Martin sat on the grass, staring blankly at the headstone before him. He had tried to sleep, but he had tossed and turned, and had finally given up and gone down to the kitchen for a snack.

He had regretted that decision as soon as he had walked through the kitchen door. All he could think of were the times he and Theresa had met there in the wee hours of the morning when neither of them could sleep. He had always poked fun at her for eating things like macaroni and ham sandwiches, even while he was warming up pizza. He could almost hear her saying, "And who eats _pizza_ for breakfast?"

Somehow, Basil found that his feet carried him to the garden. It was where he always went to relax and think. It was just that he didn't want to go there this morning. If he went into the garden, he'd be reminded even more forcibly of Theresa, not just by memories, but by seeing the gravestone, solid, undeniable proof that his best friend was dead.

You couldn't call it a _grave_stone, he decided, staring at it. It could only be a gravestone if here was a grave for it to mark, and there wasn't. There couldn't be. No one had been able to find her body. He had looked, and so had Chris, and so had everyone else. But they still hadn't found her. There was no sign that she had ever been there. Until they found her, there would be no grave. There would just be a stone. A marker. A reminder of what had happened.

Looking up, Basil saw the sky lightening behind the mansion, throwing the damage to the mansion into sharp relief. As he watched the fingers of light creep up past the jagged, ruined walls, he couldn't help but wonder: Why had she done it? Why did she go back? She had been safe. What had made her run back to the burning building? There was no one in there. They had checked. There was no sign of anyone else in the mansion. All the students were accounted for. Even Sophie had gotten out safely, though he doubted that Theresa would have risked her life for a dog.

There was one thought that refused to leave him alone. He couldn't ignore it. He didn't want it to be true, but he felt like it was. And it scared him. What if she had gone back in for him? What if she hadn't known he was safe, and had gone back to look for him? What if it had been his fault that she had died? He didn't want to think about it. But that was all he could think about.

Tortured by his thoughts, Basil looked away from the memorial stone and watched the sunrise. He found no comfort there, however. The sunlight glinted on the flowers around him, and the frost started to melt. As he watched the water drip off the petals, he felt like the world itself was weeping.

* * *

"A faction of the radical Christian group CAMD have been charged with arson and manslaughter in connection with the fire at Xavier's School for Gifted Youngsters last Sunday. None of the accused have denied the charges, claiming that they do the work of God. Several of them have said that they are disappointed that they claimed the life of only one victim."

Chris reached behind his head to the table, picked up the remote, and switched the television off. He didn't know why he was watching the news. Force of habit, he decided. He closed his eyes and took a deep breath. He didn't want to think about the fire, or the one life it claimed. He didn't want to be reminded that his sister was dead.

He rolled off the couch and stood up. Then he stepped out into the hall. He didn't want to think about the disaster, but he couldn't avoid it. Not when he could still see the places where the ceiling had fallen. Not when he could see the missing piece of the banister. Not when he could see the scorch marks on the walls.

The fire trucks had gotten there in time to stop the blaze from spreading beyond the classrooms and front of the mansion. The living spaces and bedrooms were still intact, but the classrooms were burned to the ground, and the front stairs were too burned to climb without falling through them. Once the mansion settled down again, they would be fixed, and everything would be rebuilt, but for now, it would stay the way it was.

Chris looked up at the second floor. Then he spread his wings and leaped off the ground. Within seconds, he was standing at the top of the charred staircase. He started walking down the hall, looking at the scorched walls and burned doors. All the people in this part of the building would have been moved to the back, he knew. At least, they would be until the repair work was done.

Suddenly, he started running down the hall. He ran faster and faster, then leaped and launched himself out the broken window at the end of the hall. He folded his wings and dove, watching the ground come closer. What would it be like, he wondered, to not rise away from it? Would it be what his sister had felt, when she had burned?

With a flourish, he spread his wings and looped upwards again, close enough to the grass to touch. He didn't want to find out. He didn't want to know.

* * *

Willow didn't know why. She didn't understand. Why did her best friend have to die? Why did she have to be a mutant? Why did her life have to be turned upside down? Why? What had gone wrong? She didn't know. Nothing made sense anymore. Had anything ever made sense? She didn't know. Everything was blurring. Nothing was as it should be. And there was nothing she could do.

Why? It was a question that held no answer.


	2. Controlling Your Emotions

Disclaimer: The X-Men belong to Marvel, and Basil Martin belongs to Jack.

A/N: Okay, so this was up sooner than I'd planned. I'm review-hungry, I guess. But then, aren't we all? Big thank-you to both Jack and Lia for looking this over for me. Hope you all enjoy this, and please review! Reviews make me feel good, and encourage me to write faster.

**Chapter 1 – Controlling Your Emotions**

After lunch that same day, Professor Xavier called Chris, Willow, and Basil into his office. Willow got there first, looking very stressed, but glad that there was something to do other than think. Chris looked mildly annoyed. Basil was impassive, as usual.

"I called you here," the Professor started, "because I want to counsel you about Theresa's death." No happy faces met those words. "I understand that it was a very traumatic experience for all of you, being as close to her as you were. I'd like to help you work through this." He paused and opened a drawer in his desk. He reached in and pulled out three composition notebooks. "I'd like each of you to keep a journal. They can be very helpful in sorting through your feelings." He handed one to Chris and one to Willow.

"I already have one," Basil said, not taking the notebook the Professor tried to hand him. "I got one for Christmas."

Professor Xavier nodded. "I forgot. It was given to you by Theresa, was it not?" Basil nodded, his jaw clenched, but didn't say anything. He hadn't spoken much since the fire. The Professor was hoping that this therapy would help him open up about his feelings and be more social, but he wasn't terribly hopeful. Basil wasn't inclined to speak more than necessary to begin with – now that he was maintaining a forcible silence, there was little chance that anyone would be able to console him.

"Are you going to read these?" Chris asked suddenly, wrenching Professor Xavier's mind back to the current situation.

He took a moment to answer that question. "Not if you don't want me to. Journals in themselves can help people recover from traumatic events, whether they are read and discussed or not." All three of them looked slightly relieved by that statement.

"You may go," the Professor said. "I'll set up counseling sessions with each of you later." He nodded to the three students, and they all stood up and left.

The Professor sighed. This was going to be difficult. All three of them had taken Theresa's death very hard. As predictable as this was, it would make counseling them a challenge.

* * *

Willow followed Chris and Basil out of Professor Xavier's office. When Basil turned right and Chris turned left, she stopped, momentarily confused. Then she turned left and dashed after Chris. They got to the door leading to the garden before Chris realized she was following him. 

"Why are you following me?" he asked flatly, turning to look at her.

Willow shrank back visibly. She mumbled something inaudible, then all but sprinted back down the hall. With every step she took, she became more and more transparent. By the time she reached the end of the hall, she was completely invisible.

Chris shook his head and walked out into the garden. _So damn clingy_, he thought to himself as he settled himself onto one of the stones benches. He turned his attention to the notebook he was holding. He didn't care what research showed; he was skeptical of this whole "journals are good for your feelings" thing. He didn't like writing about his feelings any more than he liked talking about them. To him, writing and talking were one and the same. His emotional strategy – ignore it until it goes away – had always worked in the past. Why not now?

_Still_, he mused, _I should probably write something._ He didn't know what he'd write, but he'd give it a shot. It couldn't hurt.

He sighed and looked up at the sky. His eyes, though, were drawn inexorably to the burned front of the mansion. He tore his gaze away and stared down at the grass, not wanting to see the towering reminder of his sister's death.

Sighing, he stood up and started walking back to the door. Maybe he and Eve could watch a movie if no one was glued to the television in the Rec. Room. He opened the door, stepped through the doorway, and nearly ran into his girlfriend.

"Sorry," he said quickly, shutting the door behind him.

Eve shrugged. "It's okay. I was looking for you. I wanted to know if you wanted to go to town and see a movie or something."

"Sure." He reached out and took her hand. "Let's go."

* * *

Willow sat on the edge of her bed, her journal on her lap. She had kept a journal before. It had sort of tapered off when she started high school, but she liked the idea of starting another. She liked being able to take all her thoughts out of her head and put them on a piece of paper. 

She reached over and picked up a pen off her immaculately neat nightstand. As she picked it up, it seemed to become a little paler, matching her own partial transparency. She felt that she'd been living in a state of near-invisibility ever since she found out she was a mutant. Especially now that Theresa was…was…was dead. It felt like her entire life had been uprooted and turned on its head within the space of a week, and she wasn't sure how to put it right again. She didn't know what to do, and there was no one to help her anymore.

A tear dripped on the open page of the notebook. She wiped away the next one, which was threatening to fall, then started to write.

Sunday, January 23 

_Dear Diary,_

_I don't know where to start. This is supposed to help my feelings. I feel scared, and worried, and sad. Everything's gone wrong with my life. I don't know what I should do. I don't know anyone here except for Chris, and he hates me. Why does he hate me? Why does he have to be so mean? Is it because Theresa died?_

_Why did she have to die? She was such a nice person. She didn't deserve it. And she was the only person here that I knew! I'm all alone now. I just found her, Lord! Why did you have to take her away so soon? She had so much to live for._

_I'm so confused right now. Everything's different now. Is there a reason for this, God? Why are you putting me through this test?_

_Love,_

Willow

* * *

Basil was lying on the couch in the Rec. Room, watching cartoons with a gaggle of 10-year-olds, when he heard the Professor call him – mentally, of course. _Basil?_

He started, as he always did. But he recovered. _Yes?_ He hoped the annoyance showed through in his mental voice. He really, _really_ despised telepaths talking to him mentally without any warning. Even _with_ warning, he didn't care for it.

Basil, I'd like to see you in my office. 

Basil groaned. _Why couldn't you have just _kept_ me there before?_ he grumbled. Nonetheless, he stood up and started meandering out of the Rec. Room and down the hall towards Professor Xavier's office. The door was open when he got there, and he let himself in and sat down in his usual chair across from the Professor's desk. He was used to meeting with Professor Xavier now. He had been meeting with him since a month after he came here. What with his mutation being as annoyingly out of control as it was, he spent a lot of time with the Professor.

"Basil, I wanted to ask you about the state of your mutation right now." The Professor put his elbows on his desk and interlaced his fingers. "You are under a lot of stress at the moment, and I was curious as to the effects of this on your mutation."

"Well," Basil said slowly, "I've had constant headaches since the fire, so I'm not exactly improving, am I?"

The Professor smiled at his student's sarcasm. "I have come to a conclusion about your mutation, Basil."

Basil stared at him. "What?"

"It seems as if your mutation acts up more when you are under great emotional stress. Your move here made the headaches worse, am I correct?"

Basil nodded without breaking eye contact.

"And now your headaches have been getting worse, after Theresa's death."

He nodded again, glaring at the Professor as he did. "Yes."

Professor Xavier considered his next words for a moment. "The best thing you can do right now is learn to deal with your emotions. The more you bottle up your emotions, the worse your headaches will get, I believe. If you learn to either discuss your emotions or perhaps filter them into some form of art, your headaches will most likely become much less frequent and intense."

"Okay." Basil stood up, having been to enough meetings with the Professor to know when one was over. "Maybe I'll take up tap-dancing." Then he walked out the door.

When he was outside the room, he sat down against the wall and put his head in his hands to try to combat his headache. But it was too much. In the blink of an eye, he was gone.


	3. Timeless Memories

Disclaimer: Don't we go through this every chapter? It should be clear by now!

A/N: Okay, I've decided _not_ to do NaNoWriMo (everybody _bailed_ on me - _JACK_!), so I have time (sort of) to write chapters. I'm still gonna start my other story in November, but I'll try to keep up with this, too. And I hope that this beginning part doesn't seem too depressing. It'll get better, I promise! pleading eyes It's just that it's very soon after she was declared dead and they had a memorial service for her, so everyone is sad. In a couple chapters it should be out of the super-depressing part. I hope. So have fun, and remember, reviews make me churn out more words faster! (Don't you love how I shamelessly beg for reviews?)

**Chapter 2 – Timeless Memories**

When Basil looked up, the first thing he saw was Lynette staring down at him. He would've glared at her for being too far inside his personal bubble, but he was too happy that his headache was gone to care.

"Basil," she asked, "what just happened?"

He sighed and put his head back into his hands. "I got here and I'm leaving." He looked back up for a second. "Oh yeah, what's the date and time?"

She raised her eyebrows at him. "It's February 5th. Ten thirty in the morning."

"Thanks," he said, closing his eyes. He focused, then he was gone again, leaving Lynette standing alone in the hallway, completely confused.

* * *

When Basil opened his eyes and looked up, the first thing he saw was Lynette standing in front of him. "Oh God, not you again!" he grumbled, but she didn't hear him. 

"Basil, we've been looking for you for _hours_! Where have you been?" She looked down at him, concerned. "Are you alright?"

He rolled his eyes at her. "I'm fine," he said halfheartedly, sounding anything _but_ fine. "What do you want?"

"We're going to clean out Theresa's room," she said, almost hesitantly – Basil's mood tended to swing when people talked about Theresa. "We were waiting for you so you can take what you want to remind you of her."

Slowly, Basil nodded. "Alright. Let's go." Lynette extended a hand to him, and he grabbed it and hauled himself upright.

* * *

Chris, Eve and Andrew were waiting at the door when Lynette and Basil got there. Lynette nodded, and Andrew pushed the door open. 

It was eerie. Not knowing that she would die, Theresa had left everything as she would've if she were coming back to it later. There was a shirt draped over the endboard of the bed, a pile of books on the floor by the bed, and the closet door was wide open, revealing the mess within.

For a moment, everyone just stood there, stunned by the unexpected normalcy of it. It felt like she would come walking in any moment. Then they all started looking around.

"Aww," Eve said, picking up a small silvery figurine from the top of the dresser – Lynette's Christmas present. "That's so cute." It was a Canadian Lynx curled up, asleep, in the snow.

"They're considered psychic," Lynette said by way of explanation.

Eve cupped it in her hand, looked around, then left the room. Slowly, Lynette and Andrew found small keepsakes and meandered out. Then Chris and Basil were left alone. They were both standing in the center of the room, gazing around, both slightly heartbroken, searching for something with real signifigance.

Chris started opening the drawers of the nightstand. At the second drawer, he stopped dead, surprised by what he saw. After a few seconds, he reached into the drawer and picked it up carefully. It was a necklace, quite clearly homemade. Hanging on it was a long, light-brown feather. For a few seconds, he stood there, involuntarily flashing back to the days that seemed so long ago, when he had left her a letter and a closetful of feathers before he left home. Then he closed his hand around the feather and left.

Basil, not having found anything, walked over to the bed and sat down. He looked around at the familiar room, so innocently awaiting the return of its occupant. It reminded him again that she was gone, and she was never coming back. A tear slipped down his cheek, swiftly followed by a second. He wiped them away impatiently with his sleeve and stared blankly across the room. Then, quite suddenly, something changed.

* * *

It startled him. Then he looked over at the opposite end of the bed. Theresa was sitting there, her geometry book on her lap and a blank, zoned-out look on her face. Then she looked up at him. "Basil?" 

Basil could only stare for a few moments, unable to move or speak. His best friend, alive! "Theresa! I never thought – " Suddenly, he stopped. If he said too much, he'd create a paradox for sure. He shouldn't even _be_ here. "I shouldn't – I can't – " he stuttered, wanting to tell her everything but knowing he could reveal nothing. "I have to go!"

Closing his eyes, he concentrated on her room as it had been in his time, then he was back. He opened his eyes and stared at the wall.

Seeing her… It had broken his heart all over again. She had done so much for him. She'd been the only one that had been able to coax him out of his shell, the only one with the desire to befriend the moody kid that avoided people as much as he could. He had so much to thank her for, and he would never be able to say it. Even if he went back in time to see her, he still couldn't tell her. There was too much risk that he'd tell her something that would change history.

He stood up and started for the door, but something in the open drawer of the nightstand caught his eye. He stepped back and picked it up. It was a notebook, similar to the ones that the Professor had given Chris and Willow to use as journals. And it was exactly like the one that Theresa had given him for Christmas. He gazed at it for a moment, then tucked it under his arm and left the room.

* * *

Later, before he went to bed, he opened her journal. It started on November 25th, which was apparently two days after Chris had run away from home. It continued after that, sometimes regularly, sometimes intermittently, until January 7th. A fleeting smile crossed his face when he read her entry on Wednesday, December 7th: "_Problems never get solved by trying to kill people._" He hadn't actually realized how nasty he must've been. Later on, she commented on how annoying he was. He wished that he hadn't been, now. He actually laughed when he read her New Year's resolutions. When he finally reached the end, he set it on his nightstand and turned off the light. Then he laid awake, thinking. 

When Theresa had written all those things, she hadn't known that he would be the one reading them, mere months or weeks or days after she spilled those thoughts out onto the pages. It was a great insight to what her life must have been like. And the reason she had started writing in the first place was as a therapeutic practice – at least, according to what her parents thought

He hadn't written anything in the journal she had given him for Christmas. Maybe he should start. Like Theresa had said in her first entry, "_Maybe there is something to that story of how traumatized people should write things down._"


	4. Almost Home

Disclaimer: I don't own Professor Xavier, the mansion, or the Blackbird. Everything else in this chapter, though, is mine and mine alone.

A/N: I'm sorry! I'm so sorry! (I stole that line, but I don't care.) I meant to get this up sooner. I really did. But then life just had to go and get in the way. So here you go. Have your chapter three. Please don't try to murder me! And thanks to Liadee for pestering me to get it done.

**Chapter 3 – Almost Home  
**

"Chris, you have a very comfortable stomach."

"Are you saying I'm fat?" Chris lifted his head and looked at Eve, who was stretched out on the floor watching TV, using his stomach as a pillow. She was absently stroking the feathers of his outstretched wing.

She grinned at him. "You're not fat. You're just…squishy."

Chris bopped her on the head with his free wing. She responded by walloping him on the shoulder.

_Christopher._

Chris jumped involuntarily, startling Eve, who had enough experience with the Professor's communication methods to recognize what was happening, kept courteously silent.

_Yes?_ Chris asked crossly.

_Your parents are on the phone for you._

Chris was completely taken aback. He sat up suddenly, scaring Eve, who sat up with him. "Chris? What's wrong?"

"My parents just called," he said tonelessly. He pushed himself to his feet and walked out the door and down the hall like a sleepwalker, Eve following him.

The door to the Professor's office was open, and Chris went in. Professor Xavier held the phone out to him without a word, and Chris took it. "Hello?"

"Chris! Oh, it's so good to hear your voice again! I've missed you so much! How are you, honey?"

There was a silence on the line. What could he say to that? "Um…not too…bad?" It was just such an awkward question. "And how are you?"

That was when his mother completely lost control. "Oh Chris, I've missed you so much, and when you left I thought you were dead, then Theresa left, and I was afraid that you had both died, and we only got _one_ letter in all that time, and then _Willow_ committed suicide, and I thought you had too, and… _Oh, Chris, I love you!_"

The words he had just heard echoed around Chris's head: "I love you." He hadn't heard that from his mother in so long… "I love you too, Mom." There was moment of silence. He could hear his mother crying quietly.

It was a minute or so before his mom regained her composure. "Chris," she said slowly, "your father and I want you to come home."

Chris was shocked. "You do?"

"Yes! We love you, Chris. Please come back."

He considered that for a moment. Going back. Back _home_. "When?" he asked finally.

"As soon as you can. We can pick you up."

"No, you don't have to. I can get there faster if I get a ride from someone here." A thought hit him. "Did you want me to bring Willow?"

There was a strangled sound from his mother. "_Willow?_ She's _alive_?"

"Yeah. She's been here for a few weeks now. Theresa brought her here a few days before she…" He couldn't bring himself to finish his sentence.

"Bring her with you! Oh, Ed and Mary will be so happy!"

"Alright. I'll leave as soon as I can. Bye, Mom."

"I love you, Chris. Bye."

Chris took the phone away from his ear and turned it off. Then he looked at the Professor. "Could I get a ride from someone?" he asked.

Professor Xavier nodded. "Of course. I'll ask Storm to pilot the Blackbird for you."

That would get them there in less than an hour. Chris hadn't expected that, but it was certainly welcome. He hadn't realized it before, but he really did miss home. No matter how long he lived here at the mansion, that little nowhere town would always be the place he called home. "Thank you." He looked back at Eve, who had been watching mutely, listening intently to Chris's side of the conversation. "I'm going home," he said unnecessarily.

"Are you going to come back?" she asked quietly. Chris closed his eyes for a moment, then shrugged and walked past her out of the office. He needed to go find Willow.

* * *

Willow was in her room reading a book when she heard someone knock. "Come in," she called. 

The door opened a little bit and Chris's face appeared. "Come on," he said darkly, "we're going on a trip."

"Where are we going?" Willow asked, standing up and setting her book on the end of her bed.

"Home," Chris said shortly. "Hurry up, the Blackbird's leaving in five minutes." Then he was gone, not bothering to close the door behind him.

Willow sat back down on the bed, not quite sure what to think. Home? But she'd just _left_ home! What would they all think? She looked at her hand, which was startlingly transparent. How could her parents ever accept her? She didn't want to face that.

Finally, she made her decision. She missed home – she wanted to go back. She stood up and shook her hair out of her face. Just for a second, she became fully opaque, her power echoing her sudden spiritful decision. Then she was gray again. She slipped out the still-open door, shut it behind her, and dashed down the stairs towards the basement. She didn't want to miss her flight.

* * *

An hour later, Chris was standing in front of a very familiar door, with Willow beside him. Out of habit, he didn't knock – he just opened the door and walked in. Willow hesitated for a moment, then walked in after him, closing the door behind her. 

"Chris!" His mother was on him in an instant, smothering him in a huge hug. "Oh, you're back!" She squeezed him tightly, crushing his wings, which were no longer hidden, against his back and threatening to bruise his ribs. He hugged her back, though not nearly as enthusiastically.

"Oh Chris, it's so good to see you again! It's been so long!" She drew away, but kept her hands on his shoulders. "I'm so sorry about Theresa," she said quietly, a tear slipping down her cheek. She didn't seem to know quite what to say after that. Then she spotted Willow.

"Willow!" she said brightly, embracing her. "It's so good to see you! I didn't realize you would be here so quickly – I have to call your parents. They'll be so happy to see you…" She released Willow and dashed into the next room for the phone.

Chris's father came up to him and held out his hand. Recognizing this as a gesture of love, Chris reached out and shook it. Then his father surprised him, pulling him into a rough hug. After a few seconds, he let go and resumed his usual composure. "Good to see you," he said cordially. Chris simply nodded. It was always hard for him to talk to his father. He actually had to try to hold up his end of the conversation, which he wasn't good at.

He was saved from the necessity of resorting to some sort of small talk by his mother's reappearance. "They're on their way," she informed Willow. Then she fell silent, gazing at Chris.

It took a few seconds for Chris to realize that both his parents were silently staring at him. He looked from one of them to the other, then at Willow, who was staring at him as well, although her look was more the one of a lost puppy than anything else. "What?" he asked after a bit. "Do I have something on my face?"

His mother shook her head. "No…It's just…you're…" She trailed off, pointing past him, unable to find the right words.

Chris looked back over his shoulder. For a second he didn't understand. Then he got it. His wings; they had never seen them before, and now they were arched above his head and fluffed from nervousness and cold. "Oh," he said simply. There was nothing else he could say – there was nothing _he _could do about it. They would just have to get used to it.

"Well, why don't we sit down?" his mother said at last. They all migrated into the living room and settled on couches and chairs. Willow looked more nervous than ever. She was sitting on the edge of her chair and fidgeting. Chris, on the other hand, felt very much at home. This was, after all, where he had grown up.

After about fifteen minutes, the doorbell rang. Mrs. Scott leaped up off the couch and raced out of the room. A few seconds later, Mr. and Mrs. Erickson came flying into the room. Willow jumped up and ran to her parents, and almost disappeared as they both hugged her tightly.

Chris looked out the window at the sky. Everyone was home. Everyone was happy. Everything was right again.

Well, _almost_.


	5. Gifts and Curses

Disclaimer: Once again, anything you recognize belongs to Marvel, and Basil belongs to Jack. Everybody else is mine.

A/N: Dance and sing! We have a new chapter. And sing some more, because I know (finally) where I'm going with this story! So believe me, all this erratic stuff, it'll make sense before long. I think. I hope. I stayed up 'til midnight writing this, so I hope you like it. I'm trying to reach a certain point in the story, and I'm scribbling madly to do it. That, and NaNoWriMo's coming up, so I'm trying to get as much done as I can. And I hope that this makes the parents seem more human than I made them out to be in _By the Grace of Angels_. So yeah. Have fun.

**Chapter 4 – Gifts and Curses**

"Basil, you need to find an outlet of some sort for your emotions."

Basil crossed his arms and stared defiantly at Professor Xavier. "No, I don't. I've gone fourteen years without one, and so far I've done just fine. No matter what you tell me, you're not going to convince me to make a Zen garden. So save your breath."

The Professor closed his eyes. "I would appreciate it if you would at least try," he insisted. "If you won't talk about your feelings, you need to have some way of expressing them. I believe that when you stop bottling your emotions, your powers will become more controllable."

With an exaggerated sigh, Basil leaned back in his chair. "Okay. I'll try." He lifted his head and looked the Professor in the eye. "But I won't take up crocheting," he declared. "Never."

Professor Xavier smiled slightly. "I think Scott would be willing to lend you his old piano book, if you asked."

Basil looked at him blankly. "We have a _piano_?"

"Yes. In the Rec. Room. I'm quite surprised you never noticed it."

Basil rolled his eyes. "I'm so social, you know. I'm in there all the time," he said, his voice dripping with sarcasm.

The Professor drew up his last shreds of patience. "It's on the right, against the far wall. It may be dusty – I don't believe it's been played for quite some time."

"Alright." Basil stood up. "I'll give it a shot. I suppose it's better than – " he made a face " – painting." Then he turned, opened the door, and left.

* * *

"So you were looking my piano book?" Scott asked when Basil knocked on the door. "It's in my closet. It might take a minute for me to find it." He opened the door up wider. "Come on in."

Basil stepped inside and shut the door behind him. He was immediately jumped on by a small black-and-white bundle of fluff. He reached down and scratched Sophie's ears. "She's grown," he observed.

"Yes, she has," Scott agreed, his voice muffled. "Here it is," he said suddenly, extracting himself from his closet. He was holding a thick, old, rather dusty looking book. "I was trying to teach myself when I was thirteen, but I got sidetracked and never finished." He handed the book to Basil. "I hope you have better luck." He reached down and picked up Sophie. "Have fun."

"Thanks," Basil said. "I'll try to have fun." He turned around and opened the door. "Yeah," he muttered under his breath. "_Fun._"

* * *

"Okay," Basil said, sitting down on the piano bench and rolling back the cover. "Let's see how bad I am." He put the book up on the stand and flipped it open. He had to lean forward to read the tiny, faded type. "I can read this, really," he muttered. "Okay. Middle C. I've got that." He worked his way down the page, mumbling to himself. He put both hands on the keyboard, in a basic beginner position – from C to G with both hands.

_C, D, E, F, G_, Basil played with his left hand. Then he played the same thing with his right hand. "Okay. On to page two." He flipped the page. "So _that's_ why notes always look so different!" he muttered, staring at the page.

Over the next fifteen minutes, he got to page six – the third song in the book. He looked at it, shut the book, stood up, and stretched. Then he rolled the cover down, picked up his book, and walked away. He would work on it some more when the Professor started bugging him again.

* * *

"Willow, why didn't you say something?" Her father took her hand and squeezed it. "You're our daughter. We've always loved you for who you are. Why would you being a mutant change anything?"

A tear slipped down Willow's cheek, and she hugged her dad. "I just thought…I thought you'd feel the way I feel." She looked at the floor. "I hate it. I just want it to go away."

"Oh, Willow," her mother said, rubbing her shoulders. "You are who you are. You need to embrace that." She smiled. "I wish I had a gift like yours. It would add so much to life!"

Willow gaped at her mother. "I'm a freak!" She swallowed a sob. "People – people hate me! They want to _kill_ me!" She buried her face against her father's shoulder. "I just want to be normal!" she sobbed, her voice muffled, tears slipping down her cheeks.

Mary stroked her daughter's hair. "You know what I think?" she asked calmly.

Willow lifted her head and looked at her with red-rimmed eyes. "What?" she sniffed.

"I think that God gave you this gift, and that he gave it to you so that you can be the best person you can be." She reached into her shirt pocket and pulled out some tissues. "You're a very special girl," she said, handing them to her daughter. "I think you'll change someone's life someday. No. I _know_ you will." She hugged Willow. "We're proud of you."

"I love you, Mom," Willow said, sniffling a little, but no longer crying. "I love you, Dad."

* * *

"So Chris, what is it like at the school in New York?" Mrs. Scott carefully cut a piece of chicken and popped it into her mouth, listening intently.

Chris shrugged. "It's nice there. I like it." He ate a bite of broccoli, then continued. "It took a while to get used to being around so many people, but now I love it. I've made a lot of friends."

"Do you have a girlfriend?" his father asked, almost jokingly. Chris nodded. "What's her name?" he asked, a little surprised. He found it hard to imagine his introverted son having a girlfriend.

"Eve Young," Chris said. "You'd probably like her if you ever met her. She's really nice."

There was a moment of silence. Then his mother said, "You'll have to introduce us when we go down to New York."

"Wait a second," Chris said, "you're going to New York? When?"

His father didn't meet his eyes. "We're not sure when," he said slowly. "We want to…pay our respects."

He had barely finished saying this when a question burst from his wife. "What happened?" she asked in a strangled voice. "The day she died, I mean."

Chris immediately flashed back to that morning. It was weeks past, but it still felt like yesterday, the memory forever etched into his mind. "We knew before it happened," he started. "Andrew told us – he gets premonitions. We had enough warning to get everyone out." He stopped for a moment, then continued. "Theresa was leading the way," he said slowly, watching the events of January 15th unfold once more. "Then she turned around and ran back in. Nobody knows why." He blinked back a tear. "I didn't see her," he said quietly. "I didn't know she was gone until too late."

After that, silence reigned at the dinner table.


	6. It Got Me Here

Disclaimer: I don't own the Blackbird - but I wish I did.

A/N: I'm posting this sooner than I intended to, mostly for Kyle. I'm trying to get another chapter or so done before I get to NaNoWriMo, but I don't know if I'll succeed. In the meantime, enjoy this chapter.

**Chapter 5 – It Got Me Here**

Two days after their arrival, the Blackbird was back, ready to bring Chris and Willow to the mansion. Mr. and Mrs. Scott had asked if they could visit, and were now waiting with their son for takeoff. It had been understood that Chris was returning – they could tell that he had no intention of staying with them.

It was a much harder decision for Willow. Her desire to go with Chris was warring with wanting to stay with her parents. She could either stay and go back to the life she had before, or she could go with Chris to a place she barely knew.

Her mother squeezed her shoulder. "You do what you want to do," she said quietly. "Do what you think is right."

Willow took a deep breath. Then, suddenly, she decided. It seemed quite clear. "I'm going back."

Ed smiled. "I'm glad." He held out his arms. "Give me a hug," he said. She did.

"Don't forget to call us once in a while," her mother said, hugging her too. "Now go!" she said, waving her hands at her daughter. "You don't want them to leave you behind."

Willow smiled at them, then raced to the ramp and sprinted up it. It closed behind her.

"You're not staying?" Mrs. Scott asked in surprise.

She shook her head. "I want to see something different, I think. I need some adventure."

Chris let out a snort of disbelief, which he hastily turned into a cough. Willow was, hands down, the wimpiest girl he had ever met. He could picture her wanting adventure about as well as he could picture himself hula-dancing. Although, he thought, squinting at her, she did look much less pale now.

* * *

When they got back to the school, Eve was standing at the door to the landing bay. She waved to Willow, who waved back happily, then she hugged Chris.

"These are my parents," he said, indicating them. "Mom, Dad, this is Eve."

She smiled and shook Mr. Scott's hand. "Nice to meet you," she said cordially.

If Chris's parents were put off at all by her shockingly violet hair, they didn't show it. Chris figured that after seeing that your son had wings, it took a lot to surprise you.

On the first floor, Professor Xavier met them. Introductions were exchanged, then he led Chris's parents to his office to talk about school and various other topics. Willow had vanished; whether she had really vanished or just slipped away, Chris didn't know, nor did he much care.

After a bit, he and Eve found themselves wandering instinctively into the Rec. Room. The first person they saw was Basil, sprawled on the couch, watching something on the Sci-Fi channel.

"Star Trek!" Eve said happily, flopping down on another empty couch. "I love Star Trek." Chris sat down beside her. "What's happened so far?" she asked Basil.

"Not much," he said shortly. "It's just started."

After about five minutes, Chris had decided that he needed to watch a little more television. He had grown up with books, but he had never realized how much he was missing.

Halfway through the show, his parents appeared in the doorway. Chris rose and walked over to them.

"We wanted to know if you'll show us where she's buried," his father said quietly. "We want to pay our respects before we leave."

Chris nodded. "It's out in the garden," he said, pushing out the side door and into the unseasonably warm maze of flowers. His feet traced the path that he had memorized, and his parents followed him.

"We're here," he said after a minute. He walked out to the center of a wide circular space and sat on one of the stone benches.

Slowly, his parents walked over to a gravestone. The looked at it, then moved to the next one – the one they needed to see. Mrs. Scott sniffled, a tear running down her cheek. Before she had seen this, she had…hoped that Theresa might still be alive, that it might all be a mistake. But now… Now she could see her daughter's name, etched into stone, an immemorial reminder that she was gone, and could never come back.

They stood there, silent, for several minutes. Then they looked back at Chris. He stood up and beckoned to them. They traced their steps back to the mansion, then slipped back in the side door. Their respects had been paid. Now it was time to leave.

"Bye," Chris said, watching his parents board the Blackbird. He wasn't too sad to see them go. His life wasn't with them anymore. His life was here.

* * *

_Thursday, January 27th_

_Dear Diary,_

_I can't stop thinking about what my mother told me. She said that I was a very special person, and that someday I would change someone's life. Will I? How could I ever do something like that? I'm not a life-changing person. Am I? And if I am, how could being a mutant possibly help me? It got me here, I suppose. So maybe I'm supposed to do something here? I don't know, it's all confusing._

_I don't know why I chose to come back here. All the time I've been here, I've wished I was home. Then I _went_ home, and I was so happy… Why did I come back? I guess it was because it felt like the right thing to do. I suppose I can always change my mind. You know, I think I almost missed this place while I was home. Maybe I belong here. It must be that there's something I have to do. Maybe I have to change someone's life._

_Love,_

_Willow_


	7. Breaking Point

Disclaimer: I don't own the X-Men, and I don't own Basil Martin.

A/N: Happy Halloween! Happy last day of freedom before NaNoWriMo madness! Be happy with this - it might be the last chapter you'll get for several weeks. If you ask me nicely, I might let you read bits of my NaNoWriMo novel, though. And you _knew_ that this chapter would have to happen sometime, and here it is. I hope you enjoy. And _review_. I really hope you review - it might make me pause for a few minutes and write bits and pieces of chapter 8.

**Chapter 6 – Breaking Point**

Willow sat at the breakfast table at seven o'clock on Saturday morning with Chris and Basil, so transparent that they could glare though her at one another. She silently berated herself for coming down here to eat with them. Everybody _knew_ what they were like – that's why nobody wanted to eat at the same time as them. Until now, though, Willow had thought they were exaggerating.

Quite clearly, they weren't.

After five minutes of slow eating and intense staring, Willow broke the silence. "So, um, how are you two today?"

"Fine," Chris said icily. He didn't break eye contact with Basil.

Basil just stared at her for a moment, rather than through her. "What do you think?" Then he was back to staring at Chris.

"So, is there, uh, anything you guys would like to talk about?" asked Willow, trying again.

This time, both of them stopped eating and glared at her. Under both of their gazes, Willow wilted, and promptly vanished, save for a thin, glimmering outline in the air.

"If you want me to tell you how he _killed_ my _sister_," Chris said scathingly, "then yeah, I have something I'd like to talk about."

Basil's eyes narrowed, and hostility seemed to radiate from him. "Explain to me how I killed Theresa," he said, his voice as cold as ice.

Chris stood up. So did Basil. Willow slid off her chair and ducked under the table. She didn't want to be caught between them if it came to blows, which – judging by the expressions on their faces – could very well happen.

"If you didn't keep pulling your damn disappearing acts, you stupid bastard, then she'd still be alive!" Chris's wings fanned out of their own accord in an attempt to make him bigger. Since he was several inches taller than Basil, and considerably bigger to begin with, the effect was startling.

However, Basil wasn't intimidated. "It's not my fault that you weren't watching out for her," he snarled, taking a step forward. His hands were curled into fists.

Chris's wings stretched to their full width – about fifteen feet. His whole body was tense. "If you hadn't gone and fun off, maybe I could've been with her, but no, you vanished off to wherever the hell you went, and I had to take on some actual _responsibility_!" He reached out one hand and poked Basil in the chest. "She cared about you, and you _knew_ that, and you _still_ left! Then she went back in to find you! That's what got her killed, you heartless bastard! Don't you care?" He was screaming by now.

Willow could see the expression on Basil's face change as soon as Chris said that, and she knew what was going to happen next. Before anyone could act, Basil had punched Chris hard in the jaw. He didn't seem to care that Chris was bigger, and stronger, and had two more appendages to fight with than he did – he was just _mad_.

Chris snarled and launched a kick into Basil's stomach that completely knocked the wind out of him. He stumbled backward a few steps, but steadied himself against the fridge just before Chris smacked him across the face with one wing. Willow heard a slight crunch, and blood started trickling out of Basil's nose.

Basil didn't give up, though. Before Chris could react, he'd brought his foot around and smashed it into his opponent's kneecap. Chris lost his footing and went down. Basil was about to kick him again, but he swiped his foot across the floor, and it was Basil's turn to fall. Both of them were still for a moment.

Basil was the first one up, then Chris, using his wings to lever himself upright. The kitchen was silent save for their breathing. Both combatants were in pretty bad shape. Basil's nose was bleeding freely, and Chris was favoring his left leg.

Willow looked from one to the other, frightened. She'd known that they didn't like each other, but she'd never thought it was so extreme. Her mother's words drifted through her mind: "I think you'll change someone's life someday." What if she could do that now? What if she could stop this?

Cautiously, she slipped out from under the table and stood upright. She was shaking, and scared to death – what if they hurt her? – but felt like she had to do it. She was _supposed_ to do this.

Chris was about to throw another punch when she threw herself between them, all caution forgotten, and grabbed his arm. "No!" she yelled, her shimmering outline suddenly giving way, leaving her pale but visible. Chris stopped. Behind her, Basil stopped. They both stared at her. This time, though, she didn't give in.

"Is this what Theresa would have wanted?" she asked quietly, surprising herself with her calm, steady voice. "I knew her. She wouldn't want you two to fight each other – she'd want you to get along. For her. In her memory, if that's what you'd like to do." She released Chris's hand and looked over her shoulder at Basil. "Honor her memory."

There was a moment of complete stillness. Then Chris turned and walked away. Willow and Basil stared after him. Then Willow sat down at the table and returned to her now-soggy cheerios. Beside her, Basil picked up his bowl. He dumped the cereal out into the trash and threw the bowl into the sink. Then he was gone.

* * *

_Oh, Theresa. What would you have wanted?_ Chris twisted a blade of grass around in his fingers, his eyes locked on the nothingness beyond her gravestone. _Willow's probably right. You don't like it when people fight. But…I'm right. He shouldn't have left._ He sighed and dropped the grass. "Why did you have to leave?" he asked aloud. "Did you realize what would happen?" He pushed himself to his feet, wincing as he put weight on his injured knee. He didn't think Basil had hurt him too badly, but now that the adrenaline had worn off, it hurt like hell. He grinned slightly – he'd rather have this than a broken nose. That must _really_ hurt. He took a step, wincing. However, he decided, taking a step, wincing as he did, you didn't walk on your nose. 


	8. Memories Forgotten

Disclaimer: It wasn't my idea! Those of you that end up wanting to kill me, I _swear_, it _wasn't_ my idea! It was Jack's! Cross my heart!

A/N: Okay, Lia goaded me into putting this up early. The official celebration of NaNoWriMo. This means that there will most likely be no more posts for the whole month, but I'm sure you'll make it. If you bug me enough, you never know, I might stay up an extra hour to write you a chapter. Provided it's not Wednesday night. So maybe some Saturday I'll get up an hour early and write for you. Maybe. But I'm not making any promises. And like I said, _it wasn't my idea!_

**Chapter 7 – Memories Forgotten**

It was three in the morning. Basil was sitting in the kitchen, staring off into space. It wasn't that the kitchen was a particularly good place for this – his feet had just carried him there of their own accord.

He hadn't gotten any sleep. Every time he tried, he heard Chris's voice: "She cared about you, and you _knew_ that, and you _still_ left!" Two hours ago, it had driven him mad. That's when he had gone downstairs, an action that was by now an instinct.

Even here, though, he was tormented, not by Chris's accusing voice, but by his own tortured thoughts. What if it _had_ been his fault? What if she cared enough to go back and look for him in a burning building? He couldn't understand that. He just didn't know how anyone could care about someone else enough to do that. But then, now that she was gone, he realized just how much he had cared. And he'd never even realized.

Agitated, he stood up and walked out of the kitchen, flicking the lights off. At least he hadn't had to share the kitchen with Logan – he was off on a mission. Three AM was one of his typical kitchen times.

He slipped quietly up the stairs, then off down the hall. He was tired – he wanted to get back to bed, even if he couldn't actually sleep. At least then he could say that he'd tried. He stopped, reached out, and opened the door to his room.

Only it wasn't his room – it was Logan's.

Basil groaned and blinked sleepily. How the hell did he end up here? It was halfway across the friggin' school! Yawning, he turned to leave.

That was when something under the bed caught his eye. It was dark, but the box was halfway out from under the hanging covers. Curious, Basil turned back and sat down, studying it. It was a cooler, he determined. Blue, most likely, but he wasn't sure. It was too dark. A little apprehensive, he lifted the cover.

Nothing jumped out. He strained his eyes, trying to see what was inside. Dim outlines started becoming clearer, and he almost smacked himself on the forehead. Beer bottles. Logan drank. Duh. He went to shut the lid, but before he could, a thought came to him.

He needed sleep. Chris's words, though, were still echoing through his mind, forcing him to think, to remember. But what if…maybe…he could forget?

It was a bad decision – he knew it was. But what else could he do?

After a second of hesitation, he reached into the cooler and picked up one of the bottles. It was freezing cold and wet from melted ice. He quietly shut the lid, then stood up and slipped out of the room, shutting the door behind him.

Once he was in his room, he sat down on his bed and stared at the bottle. He'd never drank before. He'd never even really thought about it. But he'd always known that when people got drunk, they could forget. Well, he really needed to forget right now, otherwise he would probably go insane.

It took him ten minutes to get the cap off, between his slightly shaking and unresponsive fingers and the fact that it wasn't really meant to be opened without a bottle opener. But then it was off. Before he could have second thoughts, he put the bottle up to his mouth, tipped it up, and took a big gulp.

It didn't taste great. Basil could name several things that he'd drank that tasted better. But after ten or fifteen minutes, the bottle was half empty, and life was edging more towards half full – that and it was slightly blurry around the edges. Everything in his mind was sort of muffled, and he wasn't thinking about Theresa anymore. He took another sip, smiling a little. There were no more accusing voices in mind – it was just fuzzy warmth, and a kind of empty feeling. By the time he had finished the bottle half an hour later, he was slightly dizzy and not thinking about much of anything. He was kind of sleepy, too, now that he thought about it. God, it would be good to get some sleep. Either that or…he didn't know. But sleep seemed like a pretty good option. After all, he dimly remembered that sleep was his goal in the first place.

Before he fell asleep, he at least had the presence of mind to tuck the empty bottle under his bed. Then he rolled over onto his bed and fell asleep within seconds.

* * *

Chris sat out in the garden, watching the sunrise, his notebook in hand. He didn't know why he'd carried it outside – it wasn't as if he would _write_ in it. He took a deep breath. Watching the sun come up was so restful. That, and it filled him with a feeling that he just couldn't explain – something like sadness and joy and love and despair all rolled into one. All those feelings that he kept pushed to the back of his mind were coming forward, and he didn't know what to do. On a whim, he opened his notebook and decided he'd write. Maybe he could get all this out of him. 

_The frost is on the grass, Sister._

_The world has turned to snow._

_You wondered what your life would be;_

_Now you'll never know._

_I never thought that you'd be gone – _

_You'd be forever by my side._

_But as I sit and watch the dawn,_

_I finally see you've died._

He stared at the poem. Had that actually just come out of him? Talk about emotional overflow. He shut the book and stared at the sky. It didn't make him feel peaceful, the writing, but it did…something. It was a way of dealing with what he felt and yet _not_ dealing with it. He laid back on the cool grass and closed his eyes. For a while, at least, he felt better.

* * *

Basil didn't wake up until noon. The first thing he did was open his eyes – which he immediately regretted. Light was streaming in through his window, and it went straight to his brain, exploding there like fireworks. He shut his eyes again and buried his face in his pillow, doing his best to shut out the light. He still had a headache, Oh, he had one_hell_ of a headache. It was just as bad as a time-throw headache, only it seemed to be focused on a different point. Not that that made it feel any better. 

After a few minutes, Basil pushed himself up out of bed, eyes closed, and felt his way to the window. Feeling around the edges, he finally found the pull-cord for the blinds and yanked on it. When he let go, the sound told him that it had only fallen halfway. He swore and tugged on the string again. This time he succeeded in covering the window.

Cautiously, he opened his eyes. No more bright sunlight. It wasn't quite dark, but it wasn't nearly as bright as it had been.

Sighing, Basil sat down on the edge of his bed and rubbed his temples. He was such an idiot. What had he been _thinking_? Come to think of it, he couldn't remember what he had been thinking. Was it something to do with Theresa? The fight with Chris? Well, whatever it had been, he felt like shit. His head hurt, his nose hurt, _he_ hurt.

Maybe he should have stopped at half a bottle. Maybe then he wouldn't have this freaking hell-spawned hangover.

He groaned and stood up. He felt like he needed to stretch, but he didn't really feel like mustering up the energy. Instead, he stumbled over to his closet and started looking through his clothes. He finally found a T-shirt and jeans and threw them on. Then he walked over to his door, opened it, winced, and headed off to face the day.

* * *

"Basil, are you okay? You don't look so good." Lynette stopped layering turkey on her sandwich and studied him with concern. "Is something wrong?" 

Deliberately keeping himself facing away from the kitchen window, Basil hunted through the fridge. "I have a headache," he said shortly, moving a bowl of beef stew aside to get at the pizza. He couldn't help wondering if he was the _only_ person here that ate left-over pizza. There always seemed to be some in the fridge.

Andrew looked up from his sandwich and watched Basil as he put his pizza into the microwave. "Basil – " he began, but he stopped as Eve and Willow came in, chatting animatedly. He nodded to them, then went back to his sandwich.

He'd talk to Basil later.


	9. Better Ways

Disclaimer: I don't own the Professor. Everybody else in this chapter, though, is mine - other than Basil, of course. And "bum-digger" is not my expression - it's Lia's. I just decided to steal it. ;)

A/N: Okay, I have officially given up on NaNoWriMo. It was going nowhere. I think it might've been because I prefer this story to the one I had planned. Plus, there was just too much going on to actually get much done. So here's chapter 8! And please review. It brightens my day. And I'll write faster, and that's always a good thing. And FFN doesn't seem to want to format this chapter title properly, so sorry about that.

Chapter 8 – There Are Better Ways

"Haha, take _that_!" Eve yelled, raising her fists in triumph. "I totally just kicked your sorry _butt_!" She stuck her tongue out at Chris. He shook his head at her and stretched his hand out across the table politely. Eve shook it, grinning broadly. "Hey Willow, do you want to play?"

Willow started a bit at hearing her name, then recovered. She nodded. "Sure." She stepped forward and took Chris's place across the air hockey table from Eve. "I'm probably going to lose."

Eve shook her head. "Just because I'm good doesn't mean you're not better," she said with a wink. Then she batted the puck across the table, and the madness began.

"Holy crap, you hit that thing hard!" Eve made a last-second save and shot the puck at Willow, who smacked it back so hard that it flew over Eve's edge of the table, continued on across the room, and finally stopped short at the back of someone's head.

Willow and Eve looked at each other, then they both burst into fits of giggles. Chris looked on with raised eyebrows as the girl across the room stood up, snatched the puck off the floor, and strolled over to them, grinning. "I'm guessing this is yours."

Eve nodded, still laughing. Willow took the puck. "Sorry."

She shrugged. "It's okay. I have a younger brother back home – I'm used to getting hit in the head by flying things." She backed away to stand with Chris. "I want to see how this ends."

Chris studied her as she watched the game. He knew her from somewhere, but…where? She looked vaguely familiar, but he just couldn't place her. "What's your name?" he asked finally, giving up.

"Gina," she said, glancing away from the match to look up at him.

Then it clicked. "You were helping Theresa with her science project," he realized. "I knew I recognized you."

She nodded. "I was helping her and Basil with the camera." She looked down at the floor. "I'm sorry. About Theresa. She was a wonderful person."

"You bum-digger!" Eve said loudly, startling Chris and Gina into looking up. "You beat me!"

Willow was grinning like an idiot. "You were right. You're good, but I'm better." She gave her a thumbs-up. "Good game." She looked over at Chris and Gina. "Do you two want to play?"

* * *

"Basil." 

Basil jumped. Then he looked over his shoulder with an annoyed expression on his face. "What?" he asked sourly.

"You know." Andrew drifted forward silently and settled himself on the end of the bench.

"No, I don't know," Basil said, shaking his head and looking away. After a few minutes, he turned back to look at Andrew, who was still watching him with that steady, unblinking stare he had. "What do you want? Go away!"

Andrew continued staring at him. "There are better ways," he said simply.

Basil glared at him. "What are you talking about?" he asked, even though he already knew. Trust Andrew to be the one to notice.

"Forgetting has never made anyone stronger," Andrew told him, still not blinking. "The ones who are strong are the ones who use their memories."

"What if I don't_want_ to be strong?" Basil snapped. "What if I don't want to remember every day that she's _gone_?" He jumped up off the bench, ignoring his stiff, cramped muscles. "You don't know how I feel! Don't tell me what I should do!"

Andrew didn't move. "You're right – I have no idea how you feel." He stood up slowly, never taking his eyes off Basil. "But I didn't tell you what you should do – I told you what you will." With that, he turned around and walked away as silently as he had come, leaving Basil standing alone staring after him.

* * *

"How are you today, Christopher?" 

Chris looked up at the Professor, mumbled, "Fine," then resumed looking at the floor.

Professor Xavier studied him, not reading his thoughts, but watching his face. "Is there anything you would like to talk about?"

"No," Chris said shortly, still not looking up. His gaze, though, shifted from the floor to the notebook in his hands.

"Have you written anything?" the Professor asked, glancing at the notebook. He knew that Chris had been dead set against the idea of keeping a journal, but he was hoping that he _might_ have written _something_, even if it wasn't a confession of his feelings.

Chris was silent for a moment. Then he looked up and passed his notebook to the Professor. "It's not much. Don't expect to see any deep feelings."

The Professor opened the notebook and read the poem. Then he nodded and passed the notebook back to Chris. "That was a very nice poem, Chris. I'm glad you've found a way to deal with your feelings." He nodded to him. "Thank you for your time."

Wordlessly, Chris tucked his notebook under his arm and walked out of the room. Professor Xavier watched him go. Why did the boy have to be so hard to reach? He was distracted from his thoughts as Willow walked in the open door and sat down, a smile on her face.

"How are you today?" he asked her.

"Good," she said, nodding. Her old transparency was rapidly vanishing and being replaced by a kind of lightness.

The Professor, of course, noticed this fact. "Are you feeling more comfortable here, Willow?"

She nodded again. "Yeah. I guess – " she paused, searching for the right words " – I guess that I listened to my parents when they told me that I would change someone's life, and it made me feel better about myself." She crossed her legs and leaned back in her chair, completely at ease. "People can see me better now," she told him with a smile.

"That's a very good thing." The Professor put his elbows on his desk and interlaced his fingers. "Have you made any friends?" he asked. She seemed like a very nice person that could make friends easily, but he wasn't sure that she was confident enough to talk to people.

"I've made a couple," she said. "Eve's cool, and she doesn't mind me hanging around. And I sort of know Lynette and Andrew. And Chris, of course." The way she said it told him that she didn't truly consider him a friend, but he decided to leave that for the time being.

"Thank you, Willow," he said. She bounced up out of her chair and strolled out the door.

Where was Basil? The Professor frowned and watched the door. He was supposed to see all three of them today, and he particularly wanted to see Basil, knowing about the fight between him and Chris. Sighing, he reached out and spoke to Basil's mind. _Basil?_

_What?_ came the irritated reply.

_I'd like you to come see me in my office._

_Listen, I have a headache and I don't feel good. Leave me alone._ Then he felt the connection cut off abruptly. Apparently Basil was learning how to ignore his telepathy. He would leave him alone for now, but he_would_ talk to him sometime soon.


	10. Seabird

Disclaimer: I don't claim to own Professor Xavier or the Danger Room. Though sometimes I wish I owned the Danger Room, 'cause it's cool.

A/N: Okay, I had the hardest time writing this chapter. It just took a while to start. Then I was reading Prevention and saw something that made me laugh, and there was my beginning! Enjoy. And review - always review. And I'm sorry, I'm still having formatting issues. Stupid computer.

Chapter 9 – Seabird

After lunch on Monday, Chris, Eve and Willow were on one of the Rec. Room couches. Chris was sitting on one end, Willow on the other, and Eve was sprawled out on top of them, her head on Chris's armrest and her feet on Willow's lap. Chris had his book open and was ignoring the television in favor of reading it, and Willow was flicking her eyes back and forth between the TV and the magazine that she had found.

"Hey Chris," said Eve, looking up at him and ignoring the Pampers commercial, "can you please get your book off my boob? It's kinda uncomfortable." She grinned at him, and he lifted his book a few inches. "Thanks." She relaxed and closed her eyes. "I wonder when we're going to have to go back to school."

At the other end of the couch, Willow shrugged. "I don't know." She flipped a few pages of the magazine. When she saw the two-page ad in front of her, she stared at it blankly for a few seconds, looking from the words to the pictures, then burst into a fit of giggles.

Both Chris and Eve looked over at her. "What?" Chris said, slightly annoyed at the interruption to his reading. Willow didn't look at him, but handed the open magazine to Eve. She held it up, and looked at it just as Willow had before snorting with laughter and handing it up to Chris. He read it over, then shook his head. "Is there a limit to stupidity?" he asked no one in particular, passing the magazine back to Willow and returning to his book.

"I used to think there was," Eve said, handing the magazine to Willow, "but I have to say that I don't think there is."

Willow shook her head, still giggling. "Who would buy these things?"

"Apparently _somebody_does. I can't say _I've_ ever met a dog that felt embarrassed about not having balls, but hey, I haven't met all the dogs in the world." She burst out laughing again.

"Hey guys!" Lynette said speedily, leaning over the back of the couch. She looked at Eve, then at Willow, both still laughing. "What's so funny?"

Chris looked away from his book for a moment. "Silicone testicle implants for dogs," he said in an annoyed tone. Then he went back to his book.

"That's…weird," Lynette said. "Okay then." She turned and walked away. "I'll see you guys later."

"See ya!" Eve called, waving over the back of the couch. Then she closed her eyes and took a few deep breaths. "Okay. Calm. I am calm."

Chris looked down at her. "Good." Then he returned to reading. At this rate, he would never finish this chapter.

He had barely been reading for five minutes when he felt someone tap him on the shoulder. He turned around and glared at them. "What?" he snarled. Eve shifted on the couch to stare up at him, but he ignored it. The boy standing behind the couch took a step back. "The Professor wants to see you," he said quickly. Then he turned and skittered away.

Chris sighed. "I have to get up," he told Eve. She nodded and pulled herself up far enough to let him stand. He set his book down on her stomach and trudged off towards the Professor's office. Probably another stupid "and how does that make you _feel_" session.

"Please sit down, Christopher," Professor Xavier said as he entered the office. Chris sat down in his usual chair and jerked his questioningly at Clarise, who was seated in another chair.

The Professor smiled. "Clarise is here because she will be your team leader."

"Team leader?" Chris said, mystified. "What?"

Clarise smiled at him. "I want you to join the X-Kids," she said. "We're the junior X-Men," she said when she saw his confused look. "I would have asked you to join earlier, but you were recovering from your injuries."

"Um…okay," Chris said. "I'll join if you want me to."

Clarise beamed. "That's cool! We're going down to the basement to have a practice at one o'clock. You can meet the team then."

"I already know the team," he said. "Theresa – " He stopped, and swallowed, then carried on. "Theresa and I were always hanging around with the team."

"And you'll need a codename," Clarise said. "We'll have to think one up for you."

He shrugged. "Sure."

"Cool!" Clarise said. "I'll see you later!" She bounced up out of her chair and strolled out the door. At a nod from Professor Xavier, Chris pushed himself up and followed her out the door.

* * *

"So, guys, we need a code name!" Clarise smiled. "Any ideas?" 

Lynette's hand shot up. "How about Sparrow?" she said excitedly.

Chris raised his eyebrows. "No. I'm not a friggin'…songbird. If you're going to name me after a bird, make it a cool one like Eagle or something."

Eve shook her head. "No, you're not an eagle. You're not fierce." She frowned. "How about Kite?"

"Hmm. Doesn't sound very…I don't know. There seems to be something wrong with it."

"Jaeger," Andrew said suddenly. Everybody turned to stare at him. "A seabird."

Chris shrugged. "Sounds good to me."

Clarise clapped her hands. "Okay then! Let's get going, team!"

Eve grinned. "I hope we don't have another first-day mess-up." There was a moment of silence, and her smile faded. Then they all trooped after Clarise into the Danger Room.

"Chris, behind you!"

Hearing Lynette, Chris whirled around, wings and arms tight to his body. He saw the shape of a gunman out of the corner of his eye and stretched his wings and arms out to his left, bludgeoning his opponent. He kicked out with his right leg as he continued spinning, knocking him over. For a moment, Chris felt like he would overbalance, but his wings spread, and he pulled himself back upright. Reaching down, he kicked the gun out of the man's hand. From the groaning sounds, he wouldn't be getting up for a while – he probably had a cracked rib, Chris thought with relish.

"Chris, where did you learn to fight like that?" Clarise asked him, walking up to him in human form after the simulation. "You were amazing." She smiled a little, in an almost sad way. "It must run in the family." Then she walked off towards the girls locker room.

"Andrew," Chris said while he was changing back into his normal clothes, "what happened during Theresa's first practice?"

Across the room, Andrew turned and looked at him in that unblinking way of his. "We got the wrong simulation – a very hard simulation. She wrestled a gun away from a robot with her telekinesis and won the fight for us." He closed his locker door, gazing at Chris thoughtfully. "You know, you're quite a bit like her." Then he turned around and strolled out of the locker room, leaving Chris staring after him.


	11. Then and Now

Disclaimer: I don't own the X-Men.

A/N: I've just realized that this fic is at least 95 pointless fluff. I do, however, have a plan, so this pointless fluff is at least going somewhere. Well, I hope you like this chapter. As always, pretty please review. If you review, I'll give you a cookie. (They're chocolate chip!) And I'm terribly sorry, my formatting is still funky, so my chapter title is still messing up.

Oh, and does anybody like to draw? I keep wishing I could draw some of my characters, but I suck at drawing. So if anybody's interested, drop me a line and I'll send a character sketch along.

Chapter 10 – Snowstorms Past and Present

"Time to get up! It's a roaring blizzard outside, and we have to dig a path out the door."

"Ungh?" Chris said, opening his eyes and looking for the source of the voice. "Eve!" he yelled when he saw her standing in the doorway. "Aren't you supposed to knock?"

Eve shrugged and leaned against the doorframe. "I did. You didn't wake up." She grinned at him. "The X-Men are off on a mission, so Storm's not around to keep the weather at bay. So we have to dig out the doors."

Chris groaned and pulled his blanket over his head. "I don't want to get up. Why do we need to get outside into a blizzard anyway?" he mumbled.

"Come on," Eve said, walking in and sitting down on the end of his bed. "It'll be fun. We get to play in the snow like five-year-olds. I don't know about you, but it's been _years_ since I've put on a snowsuit and gone out to play in the snow."

"It can be more years for me as far as I'm concerned," Chris grumbled, poking his head out from under his blanket. "And why are you taking over my bed?" he asked, staring at Eve, who was sprawled out across the end of the bed.

Eve shrugged. "Because your bed is comfy." She sat up again and poked him in the leg. "Come on. Get up." When Chris didn't respond, she stood up, grabbed the blankets, and yanked them off the bed.

"Hey!" Chris yelled, making a grab at them and missing. "It's cold!" He curled up into a little ball by his pillow, pulling his arms into his shirt to try to conserve his body heat.

"Well, you won't _be_ cold if you get _up_!" Eve sat down beside him and shook his shoulder. "Come on! Clarise said we're all supposed to help."

"Second day on the team," Chris grumbled. Then he uncurled himself and sat up. "Now if you'll get out of my room, I'll get dressed so I can go help."

Eve jumped up. "Yay!" She walked out the door and shut it behind her. Chris could hear her footsteps running down the hall. He sighed, then stood up and found a sweater and some jeans in his dresser and pulled them on. Then he left.

* * *

"Do you need some help?" Eve asked, watching Chris trying to fight his way into his snowsuit. 

"No," Chris grunted, doing his best to fight his way into it through sheer force of will, his wings a huge hinderance.

Andrew looked over at him in an amused manner. "It might help," he said calmly, with just a hint of humor, "if you were to not put it on backwards." He grinned. "Just a thought."

Chris looked down at his snowsuit. He stared at it for a moment, then withdrew his arms and stepped out of the legs. Then he turned it around and stepped into it again. "Thanks," he said grudgingly, pushing his arms through the sleeves and zipping up the front of the suit. Eve sniggered, and Chris elbowed her lightly.

"Alright team!" Clarise said, clapping her mittened hands together. "Let's get out and shovel!"

"You're too happy about this," Lynette protested, wrapping her rainbow scarf tighter around her neck. "How can you be so happy about _shoveling_?"

"Because I'm a happy person," Clarise said, opening the door and letting in a gust of cold air before stepping outside. "Come on! Let's go!" With much grumbling, the rest of her team followed her out into the snow with their shovels.

* * *

An hour later, Chris and Andrew were sitting on a snowbank taking a break. A few yards away, Clarise and Eve were continuing to shovel off the basketball court. Since the X-Men were gone, Clarise had decided that the hanger should at least be able to open without letting a huge amount of snow into the basement, so after they had cleared a path out the door, they had come here and set to clearing off the doors. 

"Alright, your turn," Eve said, flopping down in the snowbank between Chris and Andrew. Lynette sat down on the other side of Andrew, letting her shovel fall beside her. Clarise remained standing, though she was pink-faced and leaning on her shovel.

Chris groaned, but pushed himself up and shuffled off behind Andrew to shovel off the next part of the court. "I hate shoveling," Chris muttered darkly.

Andrew smiled at him. "Don't we all?"

After a few minutes of shoveling, Chris looked at the girls on the snowbank. Then he looked at Andrew. "I just got this crazy idea," he said. Andrew nodded, and Chris scooped up a handful of snow.

"Hey!" Eve shouted, lying backwards in the snow to avoid the snowball that whizzed by where her head had been. "What are you doing?" Her only response was a snowball catching her in the stomach. Sitting up, she grabbed some snow and hurled it back. She missed both targets, but managed to grab her shovel in time to ward off another snowball, this one from Andrew.

"Guys," Clarise called halfheartedly, "we're supposed to be shoveling the court off, remember?" She had to duck quickly as Chris threw a snowball at her, missing her by inches. When she looked up again, Chris was hiding his face behind his shovel. She snarled, and he poked his head out from one side, then the other. _Thwap!_ He shook his head and madly tried to get the snow off his face. Lynette fell backwards into the snow, giggling madly. A snowball came hurtling out of nowhere to hit her in the chin. "Hey!" she yelled, attempting to brush the snow off her neck without getting it down her shirt – something she failed to achieve. "Andrew Miller, you are going down!"

Across the cleared space, Andrew gave an uncharacteristic snort of laughter and threw another snowball, which Lynette managed to duck before throwing back one of her own. It hit Andrew in his chest, though it was clear that he had made no attempt to move.

Eve scooped up some snow, then thought better of it and simply hurled herself at Chris, catching him off guard and slamming him into the snowbank behind him. "Gotcha!" she said. Then she swore as Chris pushed her back and hurled two handfuls of snow at her.

Clarise shook her head as she watched the scene. She had to admire the maturity of her team. She admired it even more when four snowballs struck her and knocked her back into the snow.

* * *

From a second-story window, Basil watched the snowball fight. He massaged his temples, wishing that his headache would go away. He knew he was going to be thrown, and he had a good idea when. But he didn't want to go – he didn't want to remember that. But that didn't matter to his mind, which hurled him back regardless. 

He knew what he would see through the window even before he opened his eyes to look outside. Theresa was hiding behind a small wall of snow with her brother, throwing snowballs across the open space at three people hiding behind another fort. As he watched, his past self slipped out the door, picked up some snow, and hurled it at Clarise, catching her off guard. He watched himself drop down behind the wall with Theresa and Chris and fire off another snowball.

He remembered the rest of the day – how he accidentally brought Theresa back in time, and how he had been so furious with her. He sighed and leaned his forehead against the window. _Oh, Basil,_ he thought to himself, _if only you knew._


	12. Ever Again

Disclaimer: I don't own Logan, though I do wish that I did.

A/N: Well, here is yet another chapter. I'll just say now that this is going to be the last Basil-centric chapter I write for a while. I'm kind of getting sick of him, and I assume that other people are as well, so I'm going to tone down his moping and have him more in the background and let some of the other characters come forward. I hope that's good news for everybody. And I wish FFN would fix its stupid formatting issues, because I'm starting to get annoyed with it.

Chapter 11 – Ever Again

Basil spent most of the next morning hiding in his room with the curtains drawn, nursing a headache and contenting himself to just relax and not move. He had a book open on his pillow, but trying to read in the dim light aggravated his headache, so he stopped and put his head down on the book instead.

At about ten o'clock, there was a knock on his door. Basil decided not to answer it. Nobody had any business coming into his room anyway. The knocking got louder and more insistent, and Basil groaned and buried his head under his pillow. "Go away!" he called tiredly.

The voice that answered him was not one that he wanted to hear. "Open up, kid, or I'll break the door down!"

Basil swore and heaved himself up out of bed, ignoring the screaming protests his body was making. He walked over to the door, unlocked it, and opened it, knowing exactly whom he was going to see.

As soon as the door was open, Logan slipped inside and closed the door again. "You know why I'm here," he said. It wasn't a question. Basil nodded. "I let it go the first time, kid – figured the hangover you got would teach you a lesson." He strolled across the room to the window and casually flicked the curtains open. "Obviously it didn't."

On his bed, Basil closed his eyes against the light and tried to keep himself from wincing. He didn't want to give Logan the satisfaction of seeing how much it hurt. That was what he wanted.

"You did it again last night." Logan was right in front of him now. "If I ever smell you on my cooler again, I'm takin' it to Chuck – you got that?" Basil nodded again. "Good."

After he was gone, Basil stood up jerkily and drew the curtains shut again. Forcing himself to move stopped hurting too much after a bit – it was the light that got to him, though he decided that it was probably the sudden change in lighting more than the light itself. He opened the curtains a tiny bit, then went back to his bed and sat down. Actually, the hangover he had now wasn't nearly as bad as the first one. It just seemed worse because he had been dwelling on it.

Sighing, he walked over to his closet and hunted around for clothes to wear. He finally came up with a pair of slightly rumpled black pants and a Flogging Molly T-shirt he did not know he owned. He spared the energy necessary to scowl at the wrinkles in the pants, as he detested wearing wrinkled clothes. He knew he should be neater if he didn't want wrinkles, but he didn't feel like caring too much at the moment. Once he was dressed, he took a deep breath and stepped out the door –

And almost ran into Andrew, who saved being trodden on by jumping quickly aside. He took one look at Basil, shook his head, and wandered off airily in the direction he had been going in, off in some other world by the looks of it. Basil grunted and headed for the stairs. He wanted some breakfast – maybe that would make his headache go away.

* * *

Fifteen minutes later, Andrew sat cross-legged in the chilly grass of the garden, his hands on his knees and his eyes closed. His breathing was deep and even, almost as though he were asleep. Rather than sleeping, however, he was organizing his mind and his emotions, bringing out the events of recent days to evaluate. 

Andrew thought by events. It was partially a by-product of his power, although he remembered lying in bed as a ten-year-old and thinking things through in precisely the same way as he did now. It helped him to stay as calm as he did.

People tended to assume that Andrew's lack of emotion and incredible calm stemmed from his power. That was not the case at all – true, it was incredibly hard to surprise him, but most of his calm came from patience and meditation, as well as a healthy dose of self-control.

Now events flew through his mind – old memories, recent happenings, and even an occasional glimpse of something so unfamiliar and strange that he could only assume that it had not yet occurred. Then the slideshow slowed to a stop, and he watched Basil, with an indescribable look of sadness in his eyes, pacing from one end of his room to another.

Watching the scene within his mind, Andrew wished that he had Theresa's gift of telepathy. He couldn't understand why Basil was letting himself spiral downwards. He knew that he had been close to Theresa – closer than anyone else had been – but he couldn't explain his self-destructive behavior. How was his drinking and moping solving his problems? Even if drinking dulled the pain, it came back again. What good did that do?

Maybe Basil just didn't care.

More events raced by – the snowball fight, the fire, yesterday's episode of CSI, a glimpse of his old room back home, the funeral… Then the images slowed again, and he saw Theresa and Basil. They were sitting on Basil's bed with a binder between them and talking. Andrew didn't know what they were saying, but Theresa was gesturing animatedly with her hands, and Basil was grinning and laughing. He didn't remember Basil ever having laughed. No wonder he missed Theresa so much.

Abruptly, his mind emptied. After a few seconds, he opened his eyes, stood up, stretched the stiffness out of his muscles, and brushed grass off his pants. Once the flying slideshow in his mind had ended, he knew that he had seen all he needed to, and that he was at peace with himself – at least for the moment.


	13. Miffer Te

Disclaimer: I don't own X-Men. I never have, and most likely never will. 

A/N: Sorry for the long wait and the short chapter, but I got stuck and couldn't really make it any longer. But this chapter is setting something into motion anyway, so I'm pretty happy with it. And if anyone cares to guess why the bear is named Miffer Te (not that it's that hard to figure out, I'd imagine), my friend Ellipsis was quite curious to hear guesses. And at this point, any ideas for little fluff events are welcome, because I'm kind of running out after a story and a half of using them up. Thanks!

**Chapter 12 – Miffer Te**

It had taken a while, but the Professor finally told the students that it was time to work on reconstruction. They weren't actually helping with the rebuilding – just the cleaning up. Not many people had gone into the burned part of the mansion – no one wanted to remember what had happened. But now that the fire was well behind the majority of the students, Professor Xavier had no qualms about having them help pick up the rubble.

"Hey Clarise, could you give me a hand with this?" Eve asked, trying t haul part of a fallen ceiling beam out of the rubble. Clarise turned around and walked over to her, becoming decidedly more canine as she did. By the time she was beside Eve, she was in full wolf form. She opened her jaws and picked up the broken end . Eve pulled, Clarise hauled, and they made their way over to the truck that was parked just beyond the burned walls, where they lumped the beam onto the top of the pile next to the burnt remnants of a doorway.

Chris was tugging on a particularly well-anchored piece of rubble when something small and brown went trundling between his legs. He jumped, then realized what it was – a teddy bear, dressed in little teddy bear overalls. It looked fairly ordinary, discounting the fact that it was moving of what seemed to be its own accord.

Intrigued, Chris reached down and picked it up. Its fluffy legs kicked and it pounded on his hands fruitlessly with its tiny soft fists. Chris laughed. "Who might you be?" he asked it playfully.

Much to his surprise, the bear opened its tiny mouth. "Miffer Te." It stopped struggling and pointed in the direction it had been traveling. "Marilla," it said simply. "I go."

"Okay then," Chris said after a second. He lowered the bear back to the ground, and it continued on its merry way. "How strange," Chris muttered, watching the toy walk away. He yanked on the wood, and the nail attaching it to the floor gave way, sending him stumbling backwards onto the ground. The teddy bear looked back at him, and Chris almost could have sworn he heard laughter. Scowling at the at the bear, he trudged over and dumped the wood on the pile. How odd.

* * *

Chris was sitting on the couch reading his book when Willow came and flopped down onto the couch beside him. He looked sideways at her for a moment, then went back to his book with a grunt. He didn't talk to Willow when he could avoid it. He usually stayed well clear of her. The only reason he put up with her at all was that she was friends with Eve. He had never liked her, and wasn't prepared to start now. She had always been a ditzy girly girl – nothing in the world, even the death of her best friend, could change that.

For a few minutes, no one spoke. Then Willow cleared her throat. "Um…"

Chris turned his head slowly and glared at her. "What?" he asked coldly.

"I was wondering…" She paused for a moment. "What's it like to fly?"

That was the last question Chris had expected. "It's indescribable," he said, after a long silence.

"I've always wished I could fly," Willow said, gazing off into space. "I used to have dreams about flying when I was a little kid. I always wondered what it would be like."

"I had the same sort of dreams when I was a kid," he said without thinking. He stopped abruptly. Why was he telling _Willow_ this? He didn't even like her. Still, it was nice to talk about little-kid dreams to someone. He'd talked to Theresa about stuff like that before, but she wasn't there anymore. "I used to run across a big rocky plain, then jump off a cliff, but I would never fall. I would always fly." He paused. "Maybe that's why I was never scared of heights as a kid."

"I was _terrified_ of heights as a kid," Willow said earnestly. "I didn't even like climbing trees in the front yard. I used to dream about flying, but in real life, I was always sure I'd fall." She grinned. "But I always wanted to climb to the top. I never did climb all the way up."

Chris watched her for a moment. She was staring off out the window at the sky. He suddenly noticed that she wasn't as pale as she had been when she'd first sat down. She'd been a lot more opaque lately, actually. He hadn't noticed that until now. He didn't know what that meant – not that he particularly cared.

"Theresa told me the story about looking the garden maze. I guess it never occurred to me that garden mazes really had a shape." She was still looking out the window, and wasn't quite as opaque as she had been a moment before.

The nice voice in the back of his mind told him that it would be kind to offer to let her fly. As sugary as that part of his soul might be, though, he wasn't ready to be anything too close to her friend. Leave that to Eve. He went back to his book.

After a few minutes of complete silence, Willow pushed herself up off the couch and wandered out of the Rec. Room and down the hall. Chris listened to her go, then put his feet up on the couch, his book over his eyes, and just listened to the TV. God, his typical coldness was vanishing with incredible dispatch.


	14. Marilla Blair

Disclaimer: I do not own the X-Men. Nor do I own Marilla Blair, though I wish I did because she's such an adorable little character. :)

A/N: I'm getting close to the second half of the story, where the _real_ action happens. I hope everybody likes this chapter. I thought it was pretty cute. And pretty pretty please review... I'll be your bestest friend...

**Chapter 13 – Marilla Blair**

Willow was lying on her bed, staring up at the ceiling and listening to the radio when she heard a knock on her door. She sighed. "Come in," she called tiredly, sitting up and shutting the radio off.

The door opened and Eve stepped in. "I bring good news," she announced, sitting on the end of the bed. "School starts again tomorrow. Didn't know if you'd heard about it yet or not."

"Cool," Willow said, without real conviction. She rather enjoyed being free from the daily burden of homework and classes. "Anything else I should know about?"

"The little kids are starting to come back." Eve and Willow both turned and started at the door, where Andrew was standing. "They should be here in a minute or so." He walked slowly into the room and sat on the floor in front of the bed. "Almost back to normal," he said impassively, staring out the window at the sky.

There was the sound of a commotion from downstairs. A few moments later, a few kids, probably about eight years old, came charging down the hall. They were followed by another group a few years younger. Behind them came Chris, not running but in a hurry. He saw the open door and ducked inside, closing it behind him.

"You look annoyed," Eve observed.

Chris rolled his eyes. "No, ya think?" he grumbled, flopping down beside Eve on the bed. "Why can't they _all_ find their powers as teenagers?"

Andrew fixed Chris with a blank stare for a moment, then blinked. "You didn't leave your door open, did you?"

"Oh, shit!" Chris jumped up. "I'll be right back." He flung the door open, looked both ways for any more waves of kids, then tore down the hall.

A few seconds later, there was a quiet knock on the door. "Come in," Willow called.

The door opened a little bit and a little girl, probably about three years old, poked her head around the door. "I'm wost," she said. She stepped into the room, with a teddy-bear hugged against her chest.

"Do you need help finding your room?" Willow asked. The girl nodded. "Okay, I'll help you." She stood up, walked over to the door and took the hand that wasn't holding the teddy bear in a death grip. "Hold down the fort," she told Andrew and Eve. Then she was gone.

"I'm Willow. What's your name?" Willow asked as she led the girl down the hall toward the stairs. Professor Xavier would know where her room was.

"Mariwwa," the girl answered. Willow took this to mean "Marilla," though she'd never heard a name like that before. "And this is Miffer Te," Marilla added, holding up her teddy bear. To Willow's astonishment, the bear raised its arm and waved. "Hewwo," it said in a tiny voice.

Willow turned a corner, more than slightly surprised that a teddy bear had just spoken to her. She didn't see Chris coming down the hall, and before he could stop, she had run into him. "Sorry!" she said quickly.

"It's okay," Chris grumbled. He looked at Marilla and her teddy bear. "You're Marilla, aren't you?" he asked suddenly.

She nodded. Willow stared at him. "How did you know that?"

Miffer Te pointed one stuffed arm towards Chris. "You fall," he said, then giggled. Marilla hugged the bear tighter, and he quieted.

Chris glared at the bear for a moment. Then he turned back to Willow. "I met that bear when I was moving some of the wood. Scared the heck out of me, then told me that he had to go find Marilla and just wandered off. Strangest thing I ever saw." He stared at the girl and the bear for a moment longer, then slipped past them and down the hall.

"Bye!" Miffer Te called after him in his little voice.

Willow kept walking. Then they reached the stairs. Reaching down, she picked up Marilla and carried her down the steps. She was surprisingly light compared to many of the three-year-olds Willow had carried, but then, maybe she was just stronger.

When they reached the bottom, Willow set Marilla back down on the floor and headed for the Professor's office. Marilla followed behind, staring around with big wide eyes and hugging Miffer Te to her chest.

Professor Xavier's door was open when Willow walked up. He must have heard her coming, because when she stepped through the door, he looked up from the book he was reading. "Hello," he said pleasantly. He looked down at Marilla. "What's your name?"

"Mariwwa," she said quietly.

"She's lost," Willow supplied.

"Ah," the Professor said, nodding. "I'll check to see what room you're in." He reached into his desk and took out a spiral-bound book and flipped through it. "Here we are. Marilla Blair. You get to share a room with Sarah Belanger."

Marilla looked at him with big wide eyes. Then she hugged Willow around the legs – the only part of her she could really reach. "Wanna stay wif Wiwwow," she declared. Miffer Te was hugging Willow too. "Wiwwow," he echoed.

The Professor looked at Marilla, then at Willow. Willow shrugged. "I don't mind."

"Alright," he said. "Her things are in room 102. You may need some help moving the furniture."

"I'll get Chris and Andrew to help." Willow detached Marilla from her leg and held onto her hand. "Come on, we'll get you all moved in." She turned and led Marilla out of the room, big grins on both of their faces.

Professor Xavier smiled. Rarely did older students share rooms with younger ones. However, rarely had one of his younger students become so attached to someone older than themselves. Willow would take good care of her, he was sure.


	15. Life on the Edge

Disclaimer: The X-mansion doesn't belong to me. At this point, I'm glad it doesn't – I don't want to deal with renovation. And Marilla belongs to Danny (Ellipsis). 

A/N: Sorry for the long wait for a slightly sucky chapter. It was the best thing I could think of. And I definitely borrowed the thing at the end about being alive from Torchwood, so if you seem to recognize it, that's why. Good news is, this is the last chapter before the REAL fun starts. In the meantime, enjoy.

**Chapter 14 – Life on the Edge**

Willow was cooking an early breakfast of French toast on Saturday morning when she heard what sounded like a combination of a yelp and a yell, followed by a string of swearwords. "You stupid dog! Why the hell are you laying in the middle of the goddamn door?"

Within seconds, Sophie came streaking through the kitchen and took shelter beneath Willow's chair. Several muted curses later, Chris stomped through the door. He didn't even notice Willow as he yanked the refrigerator open and pushed things around violently on the shelves. "Friggin' a, there's too much damn junk in here!" He slammed the door and was heading for the cereal cabinet when he saw Willow. "I hope you're having a better morning than I am," he said by way of greeting, opening the cabinet and hunting through the various cereal boxes.

"From the sound of it, I am." Willow watched as Chris shoved all the boxes of cereal back into the cabinet and slammed the door shut again. "If you want French toast I can make you some," she offered.

Chris considered for a moment. "Alright. Thanks." He pulled out a chair at the table and watched as Willow plopped two more slices of bread into the egg mixture. She flipped the two in the pan over to look at the bottoms, then put them on a plate.

"Here ya go," she said, holding the plate out. Chris took it, and she went back to the range.

"Thanks." Chris nodded to her back.

"No problem."

"Just think I should tell you," he said as Willow sat down with her own plate," this is the best French toast I've ever tasted."

She grinned bashfully. "Thanks. My dad taught me. He's a really good cook."

They were almost finished when Chris spoke again. "You know how you were saying that you've always wanted to fly?" Willow nodded. "Do you want me to take you flying after this?"

Willow stared at him. "Seriously?"

Chris rolled his eyes. "Well duh, otherwise I wouldn't have offered."

"I'd love that!" Willow was grinning like a maniac. "I can't wait!"

* * *

Fifteen minutes later, Willow and Chris were in the garden – the only place warm enough to fly comfortably – accompanied by Marilla, who had never seen Chris fly and found the idea quite exciting.

"Okay." Chris spread his wings. "Alright. Just like a piggy-back ride." He squatted down, and Willow tentatively wrapped her arms around his neck and jumped onto his back. "You'll want to hold on tight," he warned her. She nodded and wrapped her legs around his waist.

Chris stood up straight. "You're heavy," he complained.

"I am not!" Willow said indignantly. "You're just weak."

"I'm sure," he grunted. Then he started running across the grass. His wings were pumping. Then he jumped.

And he just as promptly fell.

"I'm sorry!" Willow said, rolling off him.

Chris groaned, then sat up. "We need a better takeoff spot," he decided. "I can carry you, I just can't take a ground start." He grinned at her. "We're going up to the roof!"

Marilla ran up just then, followed by Miffer Te. The bear pointed at Chris and laughed its little teddy-bear laugh. "You faww," it giggled. Chris glared at it.

"Come on, Marilla, we're going somewhere else to try." Willow reached down, picked up Marilla easily, and set her on her shoulders. "How do we get to the roof?"

"Um…I don't really know. There's a window up there, though, so I suppose there's a way up. There's probably an attic or something."

* * *

"Chris, I found it!"

Chris left off his ceiling inspection and ran towards Willow's voice. "Finally!" He stopped short at the end of the hall, staring at Willow, who was peering around an open door. "Don't tell me I've been staring at the ceiling for freaking _nothing_!"

Willow grinned. "Yup!" she said brightly. "Come on, I can see the window!" She ran up the steps, and Chris followed her.

"That's a _really_ small window," Chris observed. He looked at Marilla. "I don't even think she would fit through."

Willow shrugged. "We should fit through if we take the pane out and just wiggle through." She stepped forward and fiddled with the window. A moment later she pulled the whole thing away to leave a hole. "Breeze is cold," she said cheerfully. She set the pane down.

"Ladies first," Chris said, gesturing to the window.

"Well, here goes." Willow stepped forward and pushed her torso through the window. "It's bigger than it looks," she called, her voice rather muffled. "It's a bit chilly out here," she said, pulling herself the rest of the way through.

Before Chris could even move, Marilla, with Miffer Te on her back, scrambled through the window like a monkey to stand with Willow. Chris followed her, and in a moment, they were all standing on the roof, shivering in the cold and surveying the sky.

"Well, at least we have a good purchase on the shingles," Willow said, rubbing her hands together, trying to warm them up.

Chris bent down. "Okay, let's try this again." After a moment of hesitation, Willow stepped up behind him and wrapped her arms around his neck. "Hang on tight, remember?" She wrapped her legs around his waist again and nodded.

"Let's do this."

Then Chris straightened up, turned around, and made a run for edge. Just before the roof ended, he spread his wings with a snap and leaped.

Willow thought she would have screamed if her voice hadn't deserted her. The ground seemed to be quite a long way down, and it looked like it was coming closer. Then there was a powerful wingbeat on either side of her, and she realized that she was airborne. "Wow…"

"Not to ruin a lovely moment, but I can't breathe," Chris said in a strangled voice. Willow quickly loosened her chokehold around his neck. "That's better."

"How can you do that?" she asked. "Just jump like that. Doesn't it scare you? Doesn't it ever occur to you that you could die doing that?"

Chris flapped his wings again, more powerfully this time, and they went a little faster. "All the time." Suddenly he folded his wings, and they soared towards the ground. Willow screamed. Then Chris's wings snapped open again and they were sailing into the endless sky, almost as fast as they had plunged. "And you know what?" He grinned. "Knowing that I can die just makes me feel so…alive."


	16. Starting to Begin

Disclaimer: I do not own most of the stuff in this fic, including but not limited to the X-Men universe, Basil Martin, and Marilla Blair. 

A/N: I'm SO sorry for the wait, and for the short chapter! I got a bit…distracted. I had writer's block for a bit, and I've started an original story that I'll likely never finish, but it's good to try, and I've been watching a lot of anime on YouTube. Oh, and I've been doing an RP with Dess, which is a whole different kind of all-consuming distraction. But anyway, on to the story! Hope you like it!

**Chapter 15 – Starting to Begin**

It was three in the morning on January 16th, two years after the disaster. There was a cold wind blowing through the garden, ruffling the otherwise still hedges. In the predawn silence, Basil Martin stood in front of a headstone in the center of the garden. A bouquet of red roses were lying in front of the stone at his feet. His head was bowed, and his eyes closed. He didn't remember how long he had been standing there. It didn't really matter. It wasn't like he had anywhere to be any time in the near future. And if he did…well, he could get there. He hadn't been working for two years for _nothing_.

A solitary tear ran down his cheek. It wasn't cold enough for it to freeze. He was just about to wipe it away when he heard something. It sounded like a…whisper. He turned and looked around.

"Basil."

He whipped his head around, trying to find the source of the voice. "Who's there?" It was a stupid question.

"Listen to me." Basil was still looking around, though he wasn't hopeful that he would find the speaker. "Basil, there's something you have to do."

He looked at the sky, for lack of a better place. "What? What do I have to do?"

"I can't tell you."

He crossed his arms over his chest. "Well _that's_ helpful."

There was laughter. "I can't tell you exactly what you have to do, but I _can_ tell you one thing."

There was a pause. "I'm listening!" Basil called to the stars.

"All things come full circle." This voice was different. He stood stock still, straining his ears. The last thing he heard was a whisper on the wind. He didn't know exactly what he heard. But he knew what he thought he did.

He glared up at the stars and wiped the tear off his face. "Thanks a bunch for all the help!" he called. "That's really useful." He looked back down at the grave. "What does that mean?" he grumbled. "'All things come full circle'? How is that remotely useful?" Still grumbling, he turned around and marched off towards the mansion.

* * *

The diary was becoming slightly threadbare now, Basil had read it so many times. It was one of the few things that gave him comfort. It was how he got to sleep at night.

It was how he remembered her.

Now he read through it again, thinking that he might perhaps find a clue as to the meaning of "All things come full circle." But he wasn't having luck. There was absolutely nothing. Not one single hint. But then, why would there be? She'd written this before she died. Although… But no. She couldn't have possibly known.

He slammed the book shut and put it back on his nightstand. There had to be _something_, _somewhere_. He wouldn't have been told something so ridiculously cryptic without having some sort of clue planted in the past for him.

Right?

He sighed and stood up. He supposed he would have to wait. After all, he _did_ have all the time in the world.

* * *

"Alright, for today you were supposed to read _A Sound of Thunder_ by Ray Bradbury." Professor Xavier looked around his class. "I'd like to start this discussion with a few opinions. In general, did you like or dislike this story?"

Andrew was the first and only one to raise his hand. The Professor nodded to him. "I thought the story was okay except for one thing. I don't think going back in time and stepping on a butterfly can change the future."

"Does anyone agree?" The Professor surveyed the room. Gina's hand shot up in the second row. "Go ahead, Gina."

"Well," she started, "if you went back and changed the past, wouldn't you run a chance of not being born? And if you were never born, you never would've gone back and changed the past, and if you didn't go back, you were still born." She fell silent for a moment. "That's impossible, isn't it?"

Basil didn't even raise his hand before he started to talk. "Yeah, it is. Something like that wouldn't change the future – it would make a paradox."

"Paradoxes are central in many time travel stories," Professor Xavier said. "The next book we're reading deals with a large paradox." He wove his fingers together. "I'm going to pass out the books today, and tomorrow we'll discuss chapter one, as well as compare it to _A Sound of Thunder_." He looked back at the bookshelf. "Leslie, would you get those books off the shelf? They're the ones with the yellow covers." Leslie nodded and got up.

"Hey, cool," Andrew said, when he read the back cover. "I love predestination paradoxes!"

Gina turned and stared at him. "What on earth are predestination paradoxes?"

"Predestination paradoxes are situations in time where someone somehow leads someone in the past to do something or know something, and learns of what they do in the future before they do it."

Gina shook her head. "That just went over my head."

Andrew sighed. "Basically an idea goes around in circles through time."

That was when it hit. Basil stared at Andrew. "'Everything comes full circle'…" he whispered. "Of course!"

The bell rang. Everyone picked up their books off their desks and made for the door as fast as they could go. As Basil passed Andrew, he grabbed his arm. Andrew stopped and looked at him in his owlish way. "Thank you," Basil said. Andrew just continued staring at him. Basil just grinned and walked away.

Andrew stared after him. "You're welcome?" he asked, uncharacteristically puzzled.


	17. Full Circle

**Chapter 16 – Full Circle**

Two years was a long time. A long time to miss someone. A long time to be lonely. A long time to take to find out how much you loved someone, and even longer to take to realize that you loved them all along. A very long time to know that you would never see them again.

An eternity to wait before you learn that they never died at all.

* * *

Basil decided that the best place to make his epic time jump was a remote corner of the garden. That way there was less chance of him running into someone, especially himself.

That would be bad. The first rule of time travel – _never_ interact with your own past self. Or future self. Or any version of yourself at all.

He sighed and closed his eyes. He needed to concentrate. Yes, two years was a long time, but those two years had given him the chance to learn his powers. He took a deep breath and focused on the stream of time. Two years. Exactly two years.

It explained everything. It explained why there was no body – he'd taken her forward. It explained why – 

His eyes snapped open as it hit him. It was his fault. It was his fault that she'd gone back in. His fault that he'd spent two years alone. His fault. He took another deep breath and closed his eyes again. His fault or not, it had happened, and he couldn't change it. There was no way to change time.

After a moment of focus, he opened his eyes again. The sun had reversed itself, going back into the east. There was a breeze blowing through the garden that hadn't been there before.

It had worked. At least, he was fairly sure it had. He stepped out of hiding and made his way towards the mansion. There was only one way to know for sure.

He had almost reached the side door when he heard voices. He froze and listened. It was a girl's voice – Theresa's voice. And he'd been with her in the garden that morning – well, _this_ morning, really. He had almost walked straight into himself. That would have been an unbelievable disaster.

How was he going to get in? If he used any of the doors someone was bound to notice him, and he looked too old to pass for himself. He ran through the different escape routes in his mind. They went almost everywhere. The places they didn't go weren't exactly practical places to hide.

Could he wait outside the mansion? He'd have to. But where? His mind raced. He didn't have much longer to decide.

The kitchen! Now he remembered. When they'd first gone back inside, that window had been broken. At the time it hadn't made any sense. Well, it made sense now.

Trying to be quiet, he sprinted down one of the garden paths, heading for the back of the building. He didn't bother finding a route through the garden. He just hacked his way through any hedges that got in his way.

Then he was through. He looked back and heard someone yell. Not much time left. He poured on the speed and dove behind the bushes under the kitchen window. He looked around desperately and finally found a rock, barely visible underneath the dirt. He tugged at it, but it didn't budge. He dug all around it, fueled by desperation, and finally got it free. It was bigger than he'd expected it to be, but oh well. It would have to do.

He heard more yelling now, this time from the front of the mansion. If he remembered correctly, almost everyone was out by then.

It was jig time.

Taking a deep breath, he stood, backed away from the window, and hucked the rock for all he was worth.

He flinched from the explosion of glass, then leaped forward and reached through the shattered hole to undo the latch. Then he threw the window open and climbed inside. He shut the window again – pointless, but that was how they'd found it – and tossed the rock back out through it.

By the time he'd made it out of the kitchen, he could feel a draft of heat. "What kind of idiot runs _into_ a fire?" he asked aloud. He shook his head, then cautiously continued towards the entrance hall. She would've gone upstairs to look for someone when she came in. He raced for the staircase and scrambled halfway up it, grateful that it hadn't caught fire just yet. The railing, however, didn't look very solid at all.

It was unnerving, standing on the stairs while the world around him slowly burned. The staircase gave an audible groan. Maybe he should move…

Then the whole structure swayed. Not much, but enough that he lost his balance. He grabbed at the railing for support, but as he touched it, it gave way and crashed down into the hall below. And he followed it down.

It hurt. A lot. For a minute he was dazed. Then he heard another crash and heaved himself up, ignoring the pain in his left leg. Then he saw her.

Theresa. She was buried under the rubble that had fallen when part of the ceiling collapsed. She wasn't moving.

Basil limped towards her. "Theresa!" He started pulling chunks of ceiling and railing off of her. "_Theresa!_" He heaved the last chunk of wood off her with strength he didn't know he possessed.

She smiled softly at him as he reached down to pick her up, a distant, content look in her eyes. As he pulled her into a tight embrace, he felt her slump. "Come on," he said, desperate. "Stay with me!"

He didn't have time to think about whether she was alive or dead. He could hear an ominous groaning sound above them, warning him of how little time he had before the ceiling collapsed fully. He struggled to find his calm center. Through some miracle, he was able to quell all his fear and reach into Time. He focused and prayed that he would get out in time.

* * *

It was earlier in the day than when he'd left. Everyone was in class. He supposed that was a good thing, but at the moment, he wasn't too concerned with what other people were doing.

"Theresa!" He relaxed his grip and slowly laid her down on the floor. She wasn't moving. He put one ear down to her mouth. She wasn't breathing, either.

For a second he panicked. He didn't know what to do. Then he remembered the class he'd been forced to take on CPR. For all the complaining he'd done when he'd been forced to learn it, he was infinitely grateful for it now.

He had gone through three sets of breaths and compressions before anything happened. He paused, his arms aching, just for one second. That was when he saw her chest rising and falling.

She was breathing.

His eyes widened, then a smile invaded his features. She was alive. _Theresa was alive._


	18. Two Years in Four Hours

Disclaimer: I don't own the X-Men. Nor do I own Hank, though I wish I did, 'cause he's the coolest guy EVER!

A/N: This is the first time in 19 chapters I've gotten to write in FIRST PERSON! WOOT! And I'm still basking in the happiness of getting to this point. I've wanted to write this part of the story since the beginning of _By the Grace of Angels_. I'm so psyched that I've finally gotten here. Even though it's taken me a while. Anywho, read on.

**Chapter 17 – Two Years in Four Hours**

I saw an angel. I knew I did. And I knew that I was going to die. And I was fairly certain that I did. But for a dead person, I sure was sore.

My chest especially. I felt like someone had taken a rubber mallet and beaten me a few hundred times. That and the fact that my ribs hurt, and my legs. And I had a splitting headache. I didn't think the dead had headaches. The logical conclusion, therefore, was that I wasn't dead.

For a few minutes I just stayed still and didn't think about much. Then I opened my eyes, trying to figure out where on earth I was. I certainly wasn't under a pile of rubble in a burning house.

It was the infirmary. Same old, boring ceiling with the same old boring lights. It made sense for me to be there, I suppose. But why would someone take me down inside a burning building. I turned my head and looked over at the desk where I assumed Storm would be.

But it wasn't Storm that was sitting at the desk. It was someone else. Someone big, blue, and hairy.

I cleared my throat. "Uh…hi." My voice was still all raspy. I must've inhaled some smoke.

The man turned around in his chair. "Ah, you're awake." He stood up and walked over to me. "We haven't been introduced. "I'm Dr. Henry McCoy. But please, call me Hank." He smiled, showing large white fangs. Despite his appearance, he seemed like a very nice guy.

"I'm Theresa." I looked around. "How long have I been out?"

Hank looked over at the clock. "For around four hours."

I heard the door open and the footsteps of someone coming in. Then, before I knew it, there was another person looking down at me. "Theresa!"

It was Basil. And yet…it wasn't. He didn't feel like Basil. Well, he did, but at the same time he didn't. "I'm so confused…"

Above me, Hank looked at Basil. "I think you should explain. I don't fully understand the situation myself."

Basil nodded and pulled up a chair. I turned my head and watched him, trying to figure out what was so radically different about him. He sighed and closed his eyes. "It's been two years."

"Two years? Two years since what?"

"Since the mansion burned."

Now my head was really spinning. "But I've only been out for four hours…" I squeezed my eyes shut and opened them again. "I'm still lost."

He sighed again. "It's been two years for everyone else. It's been four hours for you. I went back in time to get you." He ran one hand through his hair. "Why did you go back in?"

I thought for a second. My memories just before the fire were a bit blurry. "Because there was someone in the mansion," I said at last.

"That was me."

"But you were outside, I was sure you were…" I shook my head a bit. "Why were you…?" Then it clicked. I was two years in the future. This Basil, the one that saved me, was two years older than he was when I'd last seen him. That was why I didn't recognize him. Then or now. The person I'd gone back for, the one I hadn't known, that had been him! He'd gone back in time to save me because I'd gone after him when he had gone back in time into the mansion… It was an endless circle of cause to effect and back to cause. A predestination paradox. "…Oh."

"Yeah. That's what I said." There was a moment of quiet. "I believe I also said something about, 'What kind of moron runs _into_ a burning building, why the hell am I doing this?' but that's beside the point."

I smiled. He was still Basil. No one else could be so…Basil-esque.

"Thanks for not leaving me to die under a pile of ceiling," I said, my voice still gravely.

"Don't thank me. I'm the one that knocked the railing down on top of you."

"Oh." There was another moment of silence. "It's alright. I'm fine now. Except for my chest. I can deal with my legs hurting, I can deal with this god-awful headache, but I don't remember anything heavy landing on my breastbone. It hurts like heck."

He bit his lip. "That would be my fault. You weren't breathing, so I kind of gave you CPR…" He had a sheepish look on his face.

I moved one hand and put it on my chest. "Well, I suppose I can forgive you. I'd rather be alive with a sore chest than dead without." I grinned at him.

He grinned back, a little hesitant about it. He probably wasn't quite sure how to act around me. The truth was, I felt exactly the same way. He wasn't the person I'd left four hours ago. Well, two years ago, really… He was someone else now. Someone I didn't know. It made me lonely.

"Want me to go get you something to eat?" he asked. He sounded a little awkward.

I nodded. "I'd love that. Thanks." I smiled at him. He nodded, then left.

I sighed and closed my eyes. I felt tired. Very tired. And I didn't think it was going to get better. I couldn't understand how a person could change so much after just two years. He still looked like the same person, just a bit older, but on the inside, he wasn't the person I'd left. He just wasn't the person I knew. And I didn't know what to do about it.

After about ten minutes I heard the door to the infirmary slide open and Basil's footsteps. I opened my eyes so he wouldn't think I was sleeping.

"I brought you eggs and toast," he said, holding out a plate. "Can you sit up?"

I nodded and pushed myself up. Basil handed me the plate and the fork. Now that I saw food, I realized exactly how hungry I was. I devoured the whole plate in under five minutes. Basil looked a little surprised when he took the plate back. "You were really hungry."

"Yeah. I guess near-death experiences do that to you." I laid back down and closed my eyes. "Has anything really big happened while…while I've been gone?"

He shrugged. "Just…average things. Everyone's two years older. Not much else has happened, really."

There wasn't anything to say after that. True, we had never been the type of people that talked a lot – we were partial to sitting in silence. But now…it wasn't the same type of silence. Our old silences were comfortable, the silences between friends. This silence was a colder silence. An awkward silence. It just served to make me remember how much he had changed, how he wasn't the person I'd left behind. And there was nothing I could do to bridge the gap.


	19. Identity

Disclaimer: The mansion isn't mine. I think everything else in this chapter is, though...

A/N: Okay, first thing: Jack, I did NOT mean to steal your title, it's just that this was the only thing I could think of that actually worked.

And while I'm remembering to note things, there IS a little sidestory to this going on. It's not crucial reading and takes place after this story, but it promises to be interesting. I will give a slash warning. It's called _The Bird and the Bee_ and it's by DessArtem. Actually, we're co-writing it. It's more of an amusing read than my stories tend to be, so if you want the lighter side, that's your thing.

**Chapter 18 – Identity**

Chris had barely climbed out of the driver's seat of the car when Willow came racing out of the mansion. "_Chris!_"

He reached into the passenger seat and pulled out his backpack. "You seem happy. What's up?" He slammed the car door shut and swung his backpack over his shoulder.

"Come! Come on, you've gotta come!" She grabbed his hand and literally towed him into the mansion. He just barely managed to drop his bag inside the door before she nearly dislocated his arm dragging him down the hall to the elevator.

"What is going on?" he asked as the door shut. Willow didn't let go of his hand. "You're awfully excited."

She grinned and bounced from foot impatiently. "Just wait and see!" The elevator door slid open and she was off again, towing him down the hall towards the infirmary.

"You're excited someone's sick?" Chris asked when they stepped into the infirmary. "That's not very – " He stopped. "Oh my god…" He stared at the person on the bed in front of him.

* * *

"Theresa?"

I looked at him. "Chris!" I smiled. I never thought I'd see him again. I remembered thinking how glad I had been that he didn't see me when I ran back inside, how he wouldn't stop me, then how he wouldn't imagine how I had died. And here he was, standing in front of me. "I never expected to see you again…" I could feel tears in my eyes.

He looked as though he were in shock. Then he ran forward and enveloped me in a hug. I did my best not to wince as he crushed my sore chest. "You're alive!"

I hugged him like there was no tomorrow. Even as I did, however, I felt a sense of distance between us. It was the same sense of distance I felt with Basil. Two years…it was a longer time I'd ever thought possible. And people change so quickly… A tear ran down my cheek. I pulled away from Chris and ran my arm across my face.

"How are you feeling?" he asked, sitting down in the chair beside the bed.

I half-shrugged, wincing as I did. "Not bad for someone that thought they were going to die." I rubbed my sore chest. "I feel like I got hit by a Mack truck, but I'll live."

Chris smiled. "Thank god." Willow sat down at the end of my bed. She had come to see me yesterday as soon as she'd gotten out of class. Andrew, Eve, and Lynette had come with her. It had been the same with them – they were distant. I wasn't as close to Eve and Lynette, so it hadn't been as painful, but Willow had changed nearly beyond recognition. It hurt. I didn't know her anymore. I didn't know any of them.

"Are you in college now?" I asked, trying to think of what could have happened in the two years that, to me, had never been. He had been a junior in high school when the school had burned. That meant he should be in college.

He nodded. "Yeah, I started my freshman year last fall. I'm majoring in english composition." He smiled. "I'm actually considering seeing if I can get some of my poetry published."

I smiled. "That's great!" I was a little surprised. Christopher Andrew Scott, my brother, writing _poetry_? I just couldn't picture that. But then, two years can change a person a lot. "Could I read a few of your poems sometime?"

"Sure! I'd love that! I'll find my notebook for you so you have something to do while you're stuck here." He grinned wryly. "I know how boring this ceiling gets after a day or two."

We both laughed. "The bad luck must run in the family." He smiled a little more at that. "Hopefully I'll be out of here fairly soon."

"You look like your leg is broken," Chris observed mildly.

I gave him my best _duh_ look. "Well yeah, that's what crutches are for." He snorted. For a second, I saw the part of him that I knew so well, the part that was left behind two years ago. Maybe he wasn't so different as I thought he was. Maybe. But I wasn't too hopeful. There are some things that just can't be undone.

* * *

This was Chris's dream come true. She was alive. And he had another chance. Another chance to be a better brother to her. It made him happier than anything had in a long time.

And yet, at the same time, he felt awkward. She'd been gone for so long that he wasn't sure how to act with her. As much as he hated to admit it, he'd changed, grown, and he'd done that without her. He didn't need her to help him through life like he had before. He'd learned how to cope without her. As much as he hated to admit it, that was the way it was.

He wondered if Theresa felt the same. But she hadn't lost all the people she cared about for two years, so he supposed not. She probably barely noticed the difference. He envied her for that.

"I'll go dig up that notebook for you," he said. She nodded, and he stood up and left the infirmary. He dashed up the stairs to his bedroom and started digging around on his desk. He found his old notebook under a pile of loose papers. It was old and dog-eared, and completely filled with poetry. It had only taken eight months to fill the whole book. There was just so much to say about what it was like to fly, to love, to live. To lose. There were long poems, short poems, and everything in between. And he never would have written it if he hadn't been without Theresa. He felt bad for thinking it, but if Theresa hadn't disappeared, he wouldn't be the person he was today. He would be someone less. He didn't like it, but he had to face the cold, hard fact: it was true.


	20. Why?

Disclaimer: As much as I would love to own the X-Men, I don't. Marvel gets them, and their lovely uniforms. Dang Marvel.

A/N: Now that we've had our somewhat happy reunions, it's time for more of that lovely angst! My god, when did this get so angsty? I've got an alcoholic guy who feels like a failure and a very depressed girl as my two main characters. How did this _happen_?! Anyway, this is a pretty good chapter. Lots of emotion. Enjoy.

**Chapter 19 – Why?**

Hank let me out of the infirmary three days later. I had two broken ribs, a broken leg, and a lot of bruises. He wanted to keep me another few days, but I gave him my best puppy-dog look and told him that I felt fine.

It was true – physically, at least.

He made me promise to be careful, and to come back downstairs if I felt any pain. And he charged Basil with following me around. I couldn't say I minded much. Another set of hands was welcome.

I ended up in the kitchen. "Could you hold these?" I asked Basil, holding out my crutches. Once upon a time I would have just said, "Hold these," and just shoved them at him, knowing that he wouldn't care, but this was a new person, and I didn't want to mess up a new friendship right from the get-go.

Basil took the crutches wordlessly, and I commenced looking for something to eat. I hopped my way over to the fridge and looked inside. That much hadn't changed – there was still a lifetime supply of leftover pizza and macaroni and cheese. Life was good. I grabbed a bowl of macaroni and hopped my way to the microwave.

"Do you still come down here at three in the morning to eat?" I asked while my food was warming up.

Basil nodded. "I don't sleep any better than I used to." He grinned. "And I still eat pizza for breakfast."

I laughed. "Old habits die hard."

"That they do."

The microwave beeped. I took my macaroni out, grabbed a fork, and hopped my way over to the kitchen island to eat. Basil sat down across from me and leaned the crutches against the table. I wanted to strike up more conversation, if only to kill the awkward silence, but I couldn't really think of anything to say. I'd already exhausted the what's-happened-while-I-was-gone and how-are-you-now questions while I was still in the infirmary.

When I was done eating and had shuffle-hopped my bowl into the dishwasher, Basil gave me back my crutches. "Thanks." He just nodded. I could feel the awkwardness clouding around us. I had a sinking feeling that it would be like that for a long, long time.

* * *

That night I was settled on the couch with Basil, Willow, and Lynette, watching an Indiana Jones movie. I had my leg propped up on the ottoman, which seemed to be a piece of furniture they got while I was gone. It was certainly handy when your leg was broken.

Needless to say, Indiana Jones hadn't changed at all during the two years – or four hours – that I was gone. He was still his swashbuckling self. Hooray for Harrison Ford!

We'd gotten to the middle of the movie before I was again reminded of the time I'd been gone. Willow and Lynette both saw _something_ – I couldn't quite identify what – and burst out laughing. "What?"

"Oh, just something Lynn said once," Willow said, still giggling. "You had to be there."

I tried to smile. I don't think I succeeded. Then I went back to watching the movie.

After another ten minutes or so, I just couldn't take it. "I'm gonna go get something to eat," I said, standing up and grabbing my crutches.

"I'll come with you," Basil said, starting to stand.

I shook my head. "I'll be alright, I don't need help to find the Oreos." I grinned at him, then limped my way out of the room.

Out in the hall, I looked towards the kitchen. Then I turned and went the opposite direction, towards the garden. I needed thinking time, and I knew I wouldn't get that in the kitchen.

I stepped out the door and headed for the center of the garden. It was a little harder to get around than it was in the mansion, since my crutches kept sinking into the ground. But I really wanted to just go find a place to think.

I hadn't been out into the middle of the garden since I got out of the infirmary. I got the impression from everyone with a brain that I should confine my crippled wanderings to the house. But right then, I didn't much care.

I sat down on one of the benches and leaned my crutches against the seat next to me. Then I just gazed into space, trying to not think. That was when I saw it.

There was another gravestone.

Not bothering with the crutches, I stood up and hopped across the grass. I sat down in front of it, as that was the only way to get close enough to read it.

Theresa Anne Scott

It was the eeriest experience in my entire life, seeing my own name on a grave. It took a minute for it to really sink in – that they really, truly, thought I had died – but then it all hit me at once, all the emotions I was holding back. The predominant emotion was grief, but there were other feelings as well; fear, anger, hopelessness, confusion. In what had only been four hours to me, I'd been completely left behind. No matter what I did now, I would always be dead. There was nothing I could do. Why did Basil bring me forward? Why, after two years, did he suddenly get the notion to come "rescue" me? And what good had that done? I'd have been better off dead! There was nothing left to live for now!

I didn't realize that I was sobbing my heart out, and ranting in between, until I felt a hand on my shoulder. I could tell without looking now – it was Basil. Not my Basil, though. I tried to stop crying, but I couldn't. It was just…too much.

"I'm so sorry," Basil said quietly. Then he hugged me, and I sobbed onto his shoulder, and for a moment I thought I felt a touch of familiarity, of the person I knew, the person I'd left behind.

But only for a moment.


	21. Understanding

Disclaimer: I don't own the X-Men. Never have, never will. I do, however, own "We Could See".

A/N: I've been wanting to write this chapter for a very, very long time, and I knew I had a great song for it. Hope it's good!

**Chapter 20 - Understanding**

"Theresa, did you sleep okay last night?"

I rubbed my eyes and blinked at Chris. "Yeah…"

He frowned at me across the kitchen island, but didn't argue with me, for once.

I didn't remember how I'd gotten back to my room and into my bed last night. I got the feeling that I'd fallen asleep out in the garden, after I'd sobbed my heart out on Basil's shoulder. He must've carried me…

Basil hadn't come to breakfast yet. I was grateful. I was rather embarrassed that I had acted the way I had. I hated crying in front of people. If I hadn't been so tired, I would have stopped myself. But I hadn't, so I'd managed to humiliate myself.

It was another few minutes before I heard footsteps walking in the door. Basil. I watched him for a minute, then grabbed my crutches quietly and slipped out the door. I wasn't going to make a fool of myself again.

* * *

"Hey, Basil, do you know what's up with her?" Chris asked after Theresa left.

Basil didn't turn around to answer. "Yes."

Chris waited for more, but nothing came. "Well, enlighten me!"

"I'd rather not." Basil sat down with a bowl of cereal and calmly started eating.

"Why?" Chris asked loudly.

Basil finished chewing before he answered. "Because, one, you're yelling at me, which is normal but nonetheless annoying. And two, it's none of your business."

"I'm her brother, for cryin' out loud!" Chris glared across the table. Then he took a deep breath. "How about if I stop yelling?"

"Perhaps."

Chris grimaced. "Basil, would you please tell me what is wrong with Theresa?"

Basil thought for a moment. "…No."

"I hate you," Chris muttered, then threw his bowl in the sink and walked out of the kitchen.

Basil watched him go, then went back to eating. Tormenting Chris had been fun, but not fun enough to keep him from thinking. And try as he might, he couldn't stop thinking about whether he'd done the right thing or not.

* * *

I woke up at two thirty in the morning. For a moment I thought that I was back where I belonged, in my own time, and swung my legs out of bed to go down to the kitchen and grab something to eat, probably along with Basil. Then I remembered where I was, _when_ I was, and I laid back down. That was gone now. And I would never get it back.

I had only been awake a few minutes when I heard something. I would have ignored it, but I couldn't figure out what it was. I sat up again and listened. It sounded like…piano. Someone was playing piano. I stood up and grabbed my crutches. Then I hobbled out of the room, down the hall, and down the stairs, being as quiet as I could so I didn't disturb anyone.

When I got downstairs, I could hear the music far more clearly. It was a sad-sounding tune. I hopped softly down the hall to the door of the Rec room and took a step inside.

Basil hadn't been able to sleep. His thoughts were torturing him, driving him to insanity. So he'd done the only thing he could think of to do, the only thing he'd ever been able to use to bring his emotions back under control. He didn't like the fact that he drank, but it worked. Usually.

Tonight, though, he just couldn't seem to drown his thoughts. So he'd done the only other thing he knew to do. He went downstairs, sat down at the piano, and started to play. He was an alright pianist. He wasn't the best, but he prided himself on having a good ear.

He hadn't wanted to play anything out of the book, so he'd settled on a song he'd learned off the radio a month or so ago. He still remembered it, because it had been particularly – well, not touching – but it sounded good to him.

So he'd sat down, put his fingers to the keys, and started to play.

It was Basil. He was sitting at the piano, playing a song that I hadn't heard before. It must've come out while I was…away. It was a beautiful song, but it sounded rather sad. I didn't move or speak, not wanting to disturb him. He seemed engrossed. Then he started singing.

"I'm trying not to let it show,  
But in my heart I can't let go.  
And I still wish and hope and dream,  
'Til sometimes I just want to scream.  
'Cause there's nothing I could say to you  
That could ever make you change your mind.  
But I can try…

But I could never tell you that I dream of you at night,  
And that all I want to do right now is reach out and hold you tight.

But I hold back because I'm scared of what you'll say to me.  
'Cause I'm afraid you'll tell me that you and I cannot be we.  
And I know you'll walk away  
And leave my broken heart someday.

Somewhere in my mind I know  
That I should tell you; let it show.  
But deep inside I know the truth:  
That you and I just couldn't be.  
But we could see…

It's the last thing that I thought I'd do,  
Never thought I'd fall in love with you,  
But I think somehow I knew…

I'm trying not to let it show,  
But in my heart I can't let go.  
And I still wish and hope and dream,  
'Til sometimes I just want to scream.  
'Cause there's nothing I could say to you  
That could ever make you change your mind.  
But I can try…

It's the last thing that I thought I'd do,  
Never thought I'd fall in love with you,  
But I think somehow I knew…  
But deep inside I know the truth:  
That you and I just couldn't be.

But we could see…

We could see…

We could see…"

I felt a tear drip down my cheek, and I sniffed a bit. Basil's head snapped around, and he stared at me like a deer in the headlights. I couldn't think of anything to say.

"How long've you been standin' there?"

His words sounded a little slurred. His thoughts, too, felt a little hazy. His mind was partially numb, almost. It took me a minute to determine why – he'd been drinking. Now I knew how he'd coped for two years. He hadn't.

Basil stood up from the piano bench and pushed past me out the door, not bothering to wait for me to respond.

I followed him as fast as I could. "Basil, wait!" He stopped, looked back at me, then kept going. I lunged forwards and grabbed his arm. "Wait!"

He stopped and turned around to look at me. He didn't say anything, but he didn't have to. His eyes said it all.

I pulled him into a hug. "It's okay, Basil. I understand." He didn't say a word. "I understand perfectly."


	22. Innocence and Sympathy

Disclaimer: I don't own the X-Men (not as if I use them that much, just their mansion), and I do not own Marilla Blair, thoug Disclaimer: I don't own the X-Men (not as if I use them that much, just their mansion), and I do not own Marilla Blair, though I wish I did, because she's cute!

A/N: So sorry about taking so long! I've been debating how to get the story out of Angst-Land, where it seems to have strayed to. This is my best attempt. I hope it's good. Pretty please leave me a few reviews. I'm a review-whore just like everyone else :D.

**Chapter 21 – Innocence and Sympathy**

It was 5:00 AM when I woke up. There was nothing in particular that woke me up, I just wasn't tired anymore. It took me a minute to realize why my bed wasn't as hard as it should have been. Then I looked around and saw my roommates, and I remembered. I wasn't in the infirmary anymore.

I'd been moved out yesterday. Unfortunately, there was a shortage of girls' rooms. The guys' rooms were underpopulated, but the girls' rooms were full to the brim. So I got to choose who I wanted to room with. It was going to be three to a room no matter what I did. I got an instant offer from Willow and her roommate, followed by one from Eve and Lynette. I chose Willow and her roommate. Not that I didn't like Eve and Lynette, but they could wear on the nerves after a while. Plus, I wanted to try to regain my friendship with Willow. After years and years, I didn't want to give up now, no matter how hard it was.

So now I was rooming with Willow and her roommate Marilla Blair. Cutest little kid I had ever met in my life, but she was oddly creepy.

No, it wasn't _her_ that was creepy. It was her teddy bear.

I walked into the room and was immediately assaulted by a walking stuffed animal. A teddy bear. Then I saw Marilla. She was wearing the kind of cute baggy overalls that only look good on a little kid and a bright green shirt. She grabbed the teddy bear and pried him off my leg. "Be good," she admonished him.

"Theresa, this is my roommate, Marilla Blair," Willow said. "Marilla, this is my friend Theresa."

"Hi," I said, smiling at her.

She looked up at me. "Hewwo." The teddy bear in her arms looked up at me. "I'm Miffer Te," it said.

I looked from the bear to Marilla, then up at Willow. "I'll explain later," she muttered.

Now Miffer Te was fast asleep in Willow's laundry hamper, which was apparently where he spent most nights. I found it rather odd, but he was a talking teddy bear – I guess nothing was out of the ordinary for him, not having a precedent for what his behavior should be and all.

I sighed and looked out the window. It was still pitch black out, and I could see every single star. It was a silent, perfect night.

"Whatcha doin'?"

I jumped and whipped my head around. Marilla was standing behind me, her hair tousled, watching me. I had no idea how long she'd been standing there. "Just looking out the window. What are you doing up?"

She shrugged. "Sometimes I wake up." She shuffled over and sat next to me on the window ledge. "Why aren't you asweep?"

"I haven't been sleeping that well lately, that's all." I sighed. "I miss home, I guess. I miss the people I used to know."

"Wiwwow said that she misses you. Why do you miss each other? You see each othew every day."

I sighed and closed my eyes. "I guess…she's a different person now. She's changed while I was gone. I don't know her anymore. She's…not the Willow I left."

"Wiwwow says you've changed too." She looked up at me, confused. "She says you'we diffewent. But I dunno why. Why're you diffewent? Did you turn into somebody else?"

"No…" I stared at her. "At least, I don't think I did."

"Wiwwow didn't turn into somebody ewse. She's always been the same. Since the day I met her."

"When did you meet her?" I asked. I didn't think it could be very long. The girl couldn't have been more than five.

Marilla thought for a second. "Two years ago," she said.

That made her about three when she met Willow. "Why did you come here so young?"

She shrugged. "I dunno. Just got sent here." She yawned.

I smiled at her. "Go back to bed, Marilla. Get some sleep."

She nodded and stood up, then crawled back into her bed. "G'night," she said.

For a minute I just watched her. She'd said Willow hadn't changed at all. But she had. Maybe she was just too close to see it.

I stood up and stretched. Then I went and climbed into bed myself. I spent ten minutes rolling over and rearranging myself before I finally determined that I wasn't going to be able to get back to sleep. And there wasn't much I could do about it. Out of habit, I reached over to the nightstand and grabbed the nearest thing.

It was a notebook. I'd forgotten that Chris had given me some of his poetry when I'd been bored in the infirmary. I hadn't remembered to give it back to him.

I quietly got out of bed and tiptoed to the door. I opened it, hoping that it wouldn't squeak, then slipped out. I didn't want to start reading and have the light wake the other two up. I wandered down the hall to the stairs, then sat down on the top step and opened the book to a random page.

_The dark wind shrieks,  
__"No more crying."  
__The tears freeze on my face;  
__No more crying._

_The stars sigh down to the treetops,  
_"_There is no going back."  
__No time to live but forever;  
__There is no going back._

_The moon whispers into the night,  
_"_There is no stopping now."  
__Change will never cease;  
__There is no stopping now._

I closed the notebook and closed my eyes. How…true.


	23. Returning

Chapter 22 – Returning Disclaimer: I don't own Logan, and I sure as heck don't own TiVo.

A/N: I am so, SO sorry! I took WAY too long writing this, and I sincerely apologize. I have had an immense case of writer's block, not to mention lately I've had an immense case of homework on top of that. Of course, that can't account for the whole summer, but still, it's the reason this didn't get done about a month ago. And give a cheer, because this story is finally climbing out of the realms of sad and depressing and it's actually seeing SUNSHINE! Anyway, have fun reading!

**Chapter 22 – Returning**

"Good morning!" I said brightly, walking into the kitchen.

Chris looked up from his cereal and stared at me like I had just lost my last shreds of sanity. I just smiled at him and opened the fridge to look for leftovers. When I'd grabbed some macaroni and cheese, I looked back at him. He was still staring at me like I'd grown a tail.

"Is something wrong?" I asked, popping my food in the microwave and leaning against the counter.

He continued staring at me for a moment, not answering. "No, you're just…" He paused, seeming to search for a word. "_Happy._"

I grinned at him. "Happy people tend to seem that way," I informed him matter-of-factly.

He looked like he was going to say something about that, then he just shrugged and went back to his cereal. "I won't look a gift horse in the mouth," he muttered.

The microwave dinged, and I pulled out my food. Then I sat down next to him and started eating. After a few minutes of silence, Chris piped up again.

"Okay, just to be sure, you didn't hit your head or anything last night, did you?"

I swallowed and shook my head. "Nope. I just…decided it wasn't worth being unhappy and I might as well make the best of it." I took another bite of macaroni. "Actually, it was one of your poems that finally knocked some sense into me."

He thought for a moment. "I'm gonna go out on a limb here… 'Night Words'?"

"Yeah. How'd you know?"

He rolled his eyes. "Well, I did _write_ it," he said dryly. "And that's what I was thinking when I wrote it, so I kinda put two and two together."

Before I could come up with a response, Basil walked into the kitchen, looking decidedly sleepy. "Morning!" I said cheerfully. He just grunted and opened the fridge. He pulled out a bottle of soda, poured himself a glass, then sat down next to me.

"You've progressed from pizza to Coke?" I asked, eyeing his drink. "That's not really healthy."

He looked over at me grumpily. "Bite me. I need caffeine."

"Did you just give your mood to him?" Chris asked, glancing past me at Basil, though the look didn't have as much venom as I was used to seeing.

"Just shut up," Basil muttered.

Chris rolled his eyes and stood up. "Well, Theresa, have fun," he said, smirking at me. Then he was gone.

Basil finished his soda in minutes, then put his head on the table and closed his eyes. Not having anything better to do now that I was done eating, I put my own head down on the table and stared at him.

"You know," I said after a minute, "this is completely random, but your hair could use a trim."

He opened his eyes and stared back at me, looking slightly confused, though a little less sleepy. "Well, it's getting long," I continued. "I liked it better shorter."

"…Okay then." With a sigh, he lifted his head and stretched a bit. "How can you be so damn cheerful in the morning?" he asked. Then he looked at me, all traces of sleepiness gone. "Wait a second. You're _cheerful_…"

"Have I really been _that_ unbelievably gloomy?" I asked.

"Yes."

I was a little bothered by the fact that I'd been so obviously miserable, but I pushed it out of my head. "I came to my senses."

"Oh."

There was a minute or two of silence. Then I thought of something. "Basil?"

He looked over at me. "Yeah?"

"What happened to my stuff after the fire?" The question had been bugging me for a while now. I didn't really care what had happened to most of it, but there were a few things that I actually cared about.

"Oh." He shifted in his seat, suddenly looking a little uncomfortable. "Well, they got rid of most of it, and…well, we kept some of the stuff. To remember you."

I was a little touched. "Do you know anything about what happened to my journal? Or my necklace?"

"I don't know about a necklace, but, um, I have your journal. I'll give it back to you."

I opened my mouth to thank him, but I stopped when I noticed the look on his face and the emotion in his eyes. "No," I said instead. "I want you to keep it. After two years it's high time to start a new journal anyway." I smiled.

Basil was silent. I guess he didn't quite know what to say to that. After a few seconds he stood up. "Wanna go hang out in the Rec room?" he asked.

I hopped up and dumped my bowl in the sink. "Sure."

Truly, at this time of the morning, the Rec room was a very boring place. I flopped down on the couch and decided for once to sprawl instead of curling up. I closed my eyes, ignoring the sounds of the Saturday morning cartoon coming from the TV.

"Hey, you're hogging the couch," Basil complained.

I sighed and sat up so he could sit down. As soon as he was settled, I laid back down again, using him as a pillow. If he minded, he didn't say anything about it.

We were both silent for a few minutes. Then he said, "What cartoon _is_ that?"

I opened my eyes and looked over at the TV. "That's…" I looked through my mental catalogue of cartoons, which was quite small. "Is that…_Robot Chicken_?"

Basil looked down at me. "What the hell is _Robot Chicken_?"

"Something seven-year-olds should _not_ be watching," I muttered, sitting up and hauling myself off the couch. "Alright, who went looking through TiVo?" I demanded sternly, hitting the power button on the remote.

As soon as the TV went black, the whole crowd of kids turned around and looked at me pitifully. "There's nothing _on_," one of them complained.

"Then go do something else," I said. "You're not allowed to watch that." The second I said that I mentally berated myself – if there was one thing you could do that would drive kids to do something, it was forbidding them to do it. Great. Now I was going to be responsible for the fascination of more than twenty small children with a rather inappropriate television program.

"You heard her," Basil said loudly when no one moved. "Why don't you go torment Logan? That's more fun than TV."

I don't know if it was the suggestion of tormenting one of the people that they were fascinated by, or if they were intimidated by Basil for some reason, but the room was clear in under fifteen seconds. "Wow," I said appreciatively. "Can you teach me to do that?"

Basil laughed. He was about to say something, but he was interrupted by a veritable explosion of sound from upstairs.

"Damn kids! Get outta my hair! Why the hell are you followin' me around?" There was an unintelligible response from the kids, then we heard Logan growl. "Martin!" he shouted. Basil paled.

"On second thought," I said, grinning, "don't teach me how to do that."


	24. Knights in Shining Snowpants

Disclaimer: I don't own the X-Men, and I don't own Basil Martin.

A/N: Okay, I haven't updated in forever, I know. I get distracted easily, especially by new fandoms. Anyway, this story will hopefully be drawing to a close sometimes soon. I may have an epilogue if it doesn't end up seeming too cheesy, I'm not sure. I have an idea, but it all depends on how things work out. This story should be over within five or so chapters, though. I'll try to post quicker. And I'm sorry, this chapter is complete and utter insanity, I had to get back into the swing of things. Feel free to berate me for pointless lousy writing.

**Chapter 23 – Knights in Shining Snowpants**

Waking up to someone pelting snowballs through your open window is not pleasant. Although, on the bright side, when your window's on the second story, you can narrow down your suspect list very easily.

"_Chris!_"

I jumped out of bed, shaking snow out of my nightshirt. Then I ran to the open window and slammed it shut, this time making sure that it was _locked_. Willow and Marilla were already gone, by the looks of it. Fuming at my idiot brother, I pulled on some warm clothes and marched out into the hall, ready for war.

But of course, in a war, it's helpful to have an army. So I turned around and headed down the hall towards Basil's room. He probably wouldn't be enthusiastic, at least not at this hour of the morning, but he'd enlist if I begged him. At least, I hoped he would. Thinking these happy thoughts, I knocked on the door.

Within seconds it was open, and I was face to face with an irate Basil who was just as warmly dressed as me. "I am going to murder your brother," he informed me, then he marched past me down the hall.

Well, that was easier than I had thought it would be.

"You know," I said as we were going pulling on our snowclothes, "they're going to plaster us with snowballs the second we walk out the door."

"They already _did_," Basil pointed out. "They didn't wait for us to walk out the door."

I nodded. "True. Then I guess that makes it justified war." I looked around, then my eyes fell on the door to the garage, and I grinned. "I've got an idea."

* * *

"I feel stupid," Basil grumbled.

I glanced over at him from where I was crouching behind a large snowdrift and bit my lip to keep myself from giggling. "You look like a knight in shining snowpants," I told him.

He glared at me and adjusted his grip on his garbage can-lid shield. "I look like an idiot."

"Well, at least you won't look like a snow-covered idiot," I said, deciding to just meet him in the middle of the argument. Not that it worked – he just glowered at me. Sometimes I thought he had no sense of humor at all.

"Come on!" I heard Chris shout. "You can't just be holed up in your room! Where'd you go? You must be out here."

I scooped up a snowball. "Ready?" I asked him.

Basil was already armed and looking like he was ready to kill someone. "You bet."

"Three…two…one…go!" I said, then jumped up, brandishing my makeshift shield and chucking my snowball as hard as I could right at my idiot brother. It was followed by a shot from Basil, who managed to hit him right in the back of the head.

"Hey! What the - ?" Chris said, spinning around to look behind him. He saw us standing there and smirked.

"Get ready," I muttered, feeling like a general giving a command for a suicide charge, even though it was just a snowball fight. Basil grabbed another handful of snow.

"Get 'em!" Chris yelled, and the fight was on.

* * *

Fifteen minutes later we were hunkered down in the half-finished igloo we'd gained possession of, our shields over our heads. Every thirty seconds or so a snowball would hit the metal and make a wet clanging sound.

"I'm some knight," Basil said as he lobbed a snowball in the general direction of where we thought the attack was coming from. "Can't even get the stupid garbage can lid off my hand, it froze to my glove."

There was laughter above us, and we both ducked a moment before a small blizzard landed on our heads. Courtesy of Chris, of course.

Sometimes I really hated my brother.

"Let's relocate," I suggested. "If we run down the hill we can get back inside."

"Thank god," Basil muttered. "I'm sick of this."

After one last snowball, I leaped up over the side of the igloo and ran for it, with Basil right behind me.

One problem: I failed to notice that there was a sled at the top of the hill. So what did I do? I tripped over it. It wouldn't have been such a problem if Basil hadn't tripped over me and sent us both rolling down the hill. It was like a cartoon – _bump clang thump smash CLANG_!

I ended up lying at the bottom of the hill with a garbage can lid over my face, my hair full of snow, and Basil crushing my chest. After a minute I moved the lid off my face so I could see.

Eve was leaning over us. "Are you guys okay?" I nodded.

"I hate you," Basil mumbled, sitting up and crushing my chest more in the process. "I am going inside now, and if I even see snow I will kill someone." He stood up, yanked the garbage can lid off his glove, and pressed it into Eve's hands. "Have fun." Then he marched off towards the mansion.

I pulled my lid off my hand and stood up, feeling rather bruised. "I'll take that back inside," I said, grabbing the other lid. Then I grinned tiredly. "That was fun. Make sure you get Chris for me."

"Will do," she agreed, heading back up the hill. I gave her a garbage can lid salute then headed inside.

* * *

"Warm up at all?" I asked, sitting down next to Basil on the couch. Actually, it didn't look like Basil – it looked more like a bundle of fleece with an aura of grouchiness.

The blanket shook its head. "I hate snow," it grumbled.

I pulled my knees up to my chest to conserve heat. There was probably another blanket around somewhere, but I didn't feel like looking for it. "It was fun. You're a good knight. But you're not very chivalrous."

"Chivalry's overrated." The blanket shifted and his face appeared. "You have snow in your hair."

"It'll melt," I said. I'd tried to get it out when I came in, but my fingers had been a bit numb, so I must've missed some.

"I'm not gonna share this blanket if your head's melting." He reached out one hand and ruffled my hair, sending bits of snow flying. Then he unwrapped his blanket and shook it out so it covered both of us.

"Thanks." I scooted closer to him so I wouldn't be wasting blanket.

"Your brother's an ass," he informed me. "If you ever start acting like him I'll never associate with you again."

I glanced over at him and saw that he was smirking, which meant that he was mostly over it. At least, that was what it used to mean. It still felt like it meant that. I grinned back at him, then rested my head on his shoulder and listened to the noise of the TV in the background, feeling myself slowly thaw.


End file.
